Chronicles of Convergence
by deadliestfan
Summary: In the year of the Imperial Calendar 2510, the Daemon Prince Be'lakor subverts the destiny of a planet and, in doing so, inadvertently opened up a path to a new world: Azeroth, fresh from its victory over Archimonde and the Iron Horde.
1. Destiny in Flux

_Disclaimer: Everything within is either the property of Games Workshop or Blizzard. I own nothing_

Ulriczeit, 2510

The world stood on a cusp of a new era- though most of its inhabitants did not recognize the change just yet. For most, the change was undetectable as the great nations and races of the world fought petty conflict after conflict against each other. Here, in the West, the Dwarfs entered the mystical forest of Athel Loren for the 85th time, only to be repulsed once more with less numbers and more grudges. There, in the Far East, the leading shogun of the Land of the Rising Sun sought to annex the capital of his fabled neighbor, only to be held at bay by the vast terracotta legions of the Dragon Emperor.

Only the mad and the damned recognized the truth of the world. Though the history of this planet was written in mortal blood, ultimately its fate lay in immortal hands, for every act of conflict, depravity, treachery and despair served only to feed those who sought to devour the world. The prophets of the civilized nations responded with desperate action, pleading to all who would listen on their desperate street corners that the end was nigh only to be dubbed as madmen, doomsayers and fools as a result. Many ended their days in an asylum, still screaming portents of doom to bored ears.

The damned, however, responded in an entirely different manner. Rather than fear the rise of the Dark Gods they embraced the prospect. All across the varied lands of humanity thousands of citizens, otherwise ordinary in appearance, committed terrible deeds of depravity and murder first in secrecy and then in ever greater acts of brazenness. In Nuln, a mother sacrificed her own children to Slaanesh in exchange for eternal beauty while in Araby, the schemes of a chaos corrupted sorcerer briefly created a portal to Tzeentch's realm through which thousands of cackling creatures poured out. Other, perhaps more daring individuals, fled north to seek the mighty Warlords of that impossible realm who wielded small fragments of the might of their patrons. However, in the entire world a few of the damned proceeded cautiously, reluctantly, for they felt the time was not yet right. And of those only one had the power to delay the dawn of the new age.

Enter Be'lakor, the Prince of the Damned, he who was first to draw the dark bargain and ascend to a position beyond the mortal calling. Currently he sat in his ancient shadow-lair, The Forsaken Fortress, brooding. The ancient daemon lord had helped bring along the downfall of those who had been rulers of this realm and then had been cursed in turn by his own fickle benefactors. Be'lakor still remembered his own boundless glory days when he had had indisputable command of the army of Chaos and had directed his legions to wipe out many of the nascent races of the land. He had, among other achievements, brought ruin to over a dozen temple-cities of the Slann, despoiled the capital of merethings, scoured the four ancestral cousins of modern man, participated in the despoiling of Ulthuan, sacked two of the mightiest Dwarf holds of the land and drove a third into the arms of ruin. Even those achievements, however, paled in comparison to the pivotal act that had earned him blessing from the four in the first place, an act of such villainy that its repercussions would be felt to the end of time.

Yet the glow of glory would always fade and fury would threaten to overwhelm him when he considered the events that occurred after. Memories of the jealousy of the gods, particularly the Changer, when they had learned Be'lakor's overriding ambition. Of the faltering of fortunes that followed thereafter, the treacherous deals Be'lakor's own lieutenants had made that had ascended them to daemonhood at the cost of their former master's power, the military setbacks as a result of that diminished power and, finally, The Final Treachery, where the gods themselves turned their back upon him. Then the memories would fade into eons of incomprehensible madness punctuated by brief periods of lucidity during which he was forced to crown his own successors, lesser men with lesser ambitions, over and over again. Such was the curse of Tzeentch, the most despised of the gods.

Not this time, Be'lakor vowed. To break the cycle Be'lakor had rewritten fate and history to ensure his candidate, a hollowed out doll of flesh named Archaon, would assume the mantle of 'Everchosen'. Oh how Be'lakor hated this Archaon! His son-in-flesh who he had fathered with a nameless empire sow during a Northman raid! The man-puppet would be allowed to enjoy only a precious few moments as Everchosen before the son's soul would be violently snuffed out to make room for the father's. Thus, circumnavigating the curse.

Yet Bel'akor needed more time. Archaon had not yet ascended to his destined position and what schemes lay beyond the rise of the Everchosen had run into delays of their own. A most disconcerting development, for his mortal agents had reported the followers of the Dark Gods moved with a new urgency. Pawns would have to be moved to direct the warlords of chaos into the most defensible of positions of the fortifications of Sigmar or the Dragon Emperor, or else against each other.

As Be'lakor brooded on his throne of darkness his final and greatest spy- a living shadow that had offered its servitude years ago in exchange for the ability to take corporeal form- approached the throne. With a dismissive wave of the hand, Be'lakor gestured the shadow-creature forward. It bowed low and there, before its contemptuous master, it delivered the fateful report. Scorn turned to apprehension turned to anger turned to, for the first time in several thousand years, horror. The Dark Gods did not merely seek to conquer the planet; they sought to destroy it utterly, to deny Be'lakor his rightful and long earned kingdom! The Everchosen was to be tasked not just with the destruction of the so-called civilizations of the world but the destruction of all!

Be'lakor fumed and raged, which in his magical fortress of shadow raised the temperature from frigid winter to the scorching heat of a volcano. The world was his, Be'lakor's, by right! Only he had any right to end it and only at a time of his choosing! With restrained rage Be'lakor listened to the rest of what the spy had to say before casually casting it aside with a contemptuous hand-wave. The magic of the Forsaken Citadel forced the spy to alter its form into an immovable suit of knight armor, to be called upon once more in the distant future at the daemon's leisure. Such was the fate of all of Be'lakor's minions, for the First-Damned was possessive of his treasures but uncaring of their wishes so long as they were his. Besides, this living shadow was but one of two such minions that Be'lakor possessed.

The First-Damned knew he had to move fast. With the Dark Lords orchestrating events so rapidly there was only a limited amount of time to infiltrate Middenheim and avert the apocalypse. And yet the daemon lord had to acknowledge the challenges. Sneaking into a mortal city was easy enough however getting past a god, even as one as weakened as Ulric, would prove difficult. To that end he would need assistance from one of the most treacherous forces on the planet ..

With a wave of his fingers Be'lakor entered the Shadow-Place- the space between realities, an ancient construct created long ago by the forgotten rulers of the world. Through this magical domain his journey to far off Middenheim would be far shorter than any form of mortal transportation.

* * *

Back in his Forsaken Fortress the statue of the shadow-spy shimmered, shook and broke. Accusing eyes, their movement frozen in time, glared at it from hundreds of eyes. Yet the shadow cared not. Be'lakor had no more claim to ownership of it than the daemon-prince had over this world, Mallus, itself, regardless of Be'lakor's delusions of grandeur. Still the Prince had taught it much of this world and the shadow had taught it powerful cantrips of the True Masters, claiming they were spells stolen from developing mages of the world.

The Shadow uttered a brief incarnation and then it too slipped through the cracks of reality to enter the Void from which it came through a portal as black as a daemon's iris. The strange creature had much to report on this realm to its True Masters.

* * *

Through the broken pathways of the Old Ones Be'lakor traveled over a thousand miles in less than an hour- from the lower reaches of the Chaos Wastes to the silent dark forest of Drakwald. Reality clashed with that of what-lay-beyond and Be'lakor's form- and power- were altered as a compromise of sorts was reached. With hatred, Be'lakor hissed, knowing that no daemon could achieve anywhere close to their true potential while Caledor's damned vortex existed.

Still Be'lakor had more than enough power needed for his mission. At will, his daemonic body morphed into that of a ratkin, for a deal must be struck with the twisted vermin that infested this land. Much would be promised to the greedy Skaven with little of it, likely, being delivered. Nor were the Skaven the only creatures he had to meet in this hateful forest.

* * *

From the night sky, the Empire would appear to be a vast board of mostly empty forest and plains illuminated by innumerable smaller candles intermixed with a few great bonfires- the lights of towns and cities, respectively. Yet in the whole of the Empire there were a few areas darker than most and one section in particular where only a tiny handful of guarded, broken lights illuminated the region.

The cursed forest of Drawkald had always been a region where humanity struggled to survive. However, in recent years, the rise of Khazrak the One Eye made life all the more hazardous. The cunning Beastlord had isolated and ambushed a dozen armies sent to annihilate him in the last two years, devastated all but six of the region's towns and forts and waylaid countless traffic on Middenheim's roads. To date all armies, hired killers and even wizards sent to find and slay the Beastlord had failed, with most never returning from the dark shadows of the forest. Some said the elector count, Boris Todbringer, had given into madness over his obsession to find and destroy his region's despoiler though all were careful not to voice such sentiments in earshot. The last three to do so still hung from the walls of the city.

Every year, every season, the Beastlord sought to outdo himself. More forts were put to the flame, more caravans were waylaid, more armies were ambushed. It was the Beastlord's hope to one day sack and destroy Middenheim itself, before moving onto the other Empire provinces. Such a goal was motivated not only by sheer hatred of humanity but also the impossible personal aspirations of Khazrak himself.

The hatred Beastmen felt for Humanity was well known and documented throughout thousands of years of history. In short, Beastmen were resentful of their uncorrupted kin, who they viewed as weak, an affront to the Chaos Gods, cheaters with their technology and perverters of the (un)natural order. Yet, what was not commonly known, was that Beastmen hated Chaos corrupted men nearly as much as the civilizations that they had left behind. Beasts and Men of Chaos might find common cause and ally, under the directives of the gods, yet they never had anything more but grudging, hateful respect for the other. While Men of Chaos believed Beastmen were little better than dumb beasts of innate and unsubtle violence, to be directed into war at their leisure, the truth behind the Beastman's hatred of their allies in damnation was this: they were jealous. Jealous that though Beastmen may be the children of chaos they never had any hope of attaining that vaunted position which all mortal servants of Chaos sought: Daemonhood.

Khazrak sought to be the unobtainable: the first ever Beastman Daemon prince. It was his hope that, if by extent of conquest he could surpass any feat of man, he could prove the superiority of Beastkind to the gods and ascend to that vaunted position. To the beings of the aether, such ambition shone like crystals in the moonlit light and no few daemons had sought to manipulate those aspirations to their own end however Khazrak was no dumb beast. Those lesser daemons who had tried had found themselves bound into the bodies of pleading human captives. Possessed and held tight by sorcerous chains, these daemons were used to infiltrate human towns and open their gates from within. Those that survived were sacrificed to the gods to summon more daemons, this time as foot soldiers.

All this was known to the Be'lakor from the moment he entered the Beast encampment through the shadow realm. At just a glance of the stunned Braylord, who had never before met a Daemon of his stature, the Daemon Prince knew everything he needed to know of the creature that stood before him. The Daemon saw his past, weaved before his eyes like a great, flayed tapestry from the skins of man and rival beasts. Motivations shined like bright, sanguine filled cherries, ready for the picking. Myriad futures, some faint others clear as crystals, shone before his eyes in a discordant series of moving images that reminded the daemon of the paintings in caves created by the primitive savages of his birth clan.

Inwardly, the Daemon grinned maliciously: in no vision that he could see did the Braylord achieve his dreams. Most saw him dying beneath the blade of his mannish rival or else perishing of sustained wounds even as he stood over the corpse of the Other.

Still, the Daemon told none of this to the Braylord. Instead he spoke of his own transition to Daemonhood, speaking in few words (for the Braylord has little patience for long speeches) of his glorious rise to power, how he had impressed the gods themselves that he had been the first mortal ever elevated to daemonhood. Above all the kingdoms of the world, the lords of ruin hated the Empire of Man the most. Once the Dark Gods had offered Daemonhood to Gorthor if he destroyed it; surely they would offer the same to Khazrak? Be'lakor would make sure they would.

Khazrak knew that the words of daemons were as brittle as mannish bones however it was his shaman, Malagor, who laughed, throwing the daemon prince off-guard. Even if the words of daemons could be taken at their face value, Malagor said, what weight would the words of Be'lakor hold to the lords of the dark. For Malagor knew much of Be'lakor's standing with the gods. "Be'lakor friendless, Be'lakor reject, Be'lakor weak now! Gods HATE Be'lakor. " All around the duo the Bestigor bodyguard either snickered or, for a bold few, took up the open laughter completely of their warlord.

Be'lakor reminded the assembled Beastmen of his power in the most gruesome possible way. Laughs turned to screams as flesh melted off into gelatinous liquid. The rest of the Bestigors drew their weapons, hands quivering, as the Shaman and Braylord eyed their guest with wary eyes.

Mustering his rage, Be'lakor spoke once more, telling Khazrak of the importance of Middenheim to the Empire of man, how the ancient city had always stood as a shield and last bastion of the Empire against Chaos, Orcs, Dead and Vermin. Should it fall, the daemon said, the Empire would lose hope. And Khazrak would be the one to snuff it out.

Most beastmen warlords would have leapt upon the opportunity to destroy the mightiest bastion of their most hated enemy but Khazrak was smarter. He did not achieve his position through suicidal stupidity, but, rather, through cunning and caution. He knew his forces were yet inefficient to breach the walls of Middenheim and said so, much to the discontent of many of his wargors. And that, unless Be'lakor brought a daemon army, he wouldn't either.

The Daemon Prince acknowledged this and stated that while Be'lakor could not conquer the city for the braylord, he could make it so the conquest of the city was actually possible. He spoke of mystical powers beneath the city that kept a fire going that, if snuffed out, would destroy the morale of their inhabitants. Prophecy had proclaimed that so long as that flame burned, the city would never fall. So long as the Braylord kept Todbringer occupied above, and lent him a small force to assault the tunnels, Be'lakor would claim Middenheim's great prize.

Khazrak's eyes narrowed, and then summoned his shaman over. He would help the Daemon if it would give an oath to lead his forces down the tunnel and not abandon them before they had reached the flame. Khazrak had tried to lead his forces through the tunnel before, and had long since discovered them to be a labyrinth haunted by goblins, vermin and worse things. The oath was given freely, for Be'lakor proclaimed that he had need of certain treasures buried beneath the flame and needed Beastmen help else he would have gone independently. The deal was struck seemingly.

It was only later that the Beastmen, lacking human finesse, would later wish they had added more words and conditions to the bargain, for daemons had long made a specialty out of cheating more cleverly worded deals. And Be'lakor was the greatest daemon of them all.

* * *

Just before dawn of a morning a week apart from the meeting, Khazrak's herd emerged from the forests surrounding Middenheim to attack the farthest flung caravans and houses from the city. Farmers out tending the crops were butchered like the pigs they raised while their families huddled, helplessly, in doomed dwellings. Screams tore through the air as those closest to the mountain-fortress fled towards it and the city guard was roused.

Through this commotion the Daemon Prince Be'lakor, leading a pack of the most silent Ungors (who were still relatively noisy by the standards of any other race), raced to the entrance of the mines, there to meet other allies who had been enlisted by the Daemon Prince.

From the shadows emerged Be'lakor's chief agent in the region- a Dark Emissary of distant Albion. The agent had been busy, by Be'lakor's request, enlisting a local cult of Tzeentch to the cause of his Dark Master. The magic of the magus and his followers would suit Be'lakor well, and the fact that Be'lakor hated Tzeentch more than any other god made the end result even more desirable.

The sight of Be'lakor in the flesh was too much for many of the cultists; the vision of what all ultimately sought to attain drove many to their knees in sheer adoration. Contemptuous but nonetheless empowered by their act of worship, Be'lakor peered into the futures of the cult and found an individual who had the slightest chance of actually attaining daemonhood. Per Be'lakor's command, this pleading cultist was promptly sacrificed to the First-Damned's glory.

Leading his company of the damned into the pitch-black caverns, Be'lakor strode through the darkness as if he knew the steps instinctively. Indeed, this had not been his first incursion into the depths of Middenheim. During the first great Chaos war, when the powers of the gods- all gods- was significantly greater than they ever had since- he had led his legions against armies of frostbitten wolves and werecreatures of the Winter God. Once he had even pushed all the way to the innermost cavern of Middenheim. There he had fought the weakened god-aspect to a draw! However in those days the gods had resolved already to damn the First-Damned and ascended the first four into daemonhood, which diluted Be'lakor's power even as he dueled the Winter God. What could have been an unholy success turned into a fantastical failure- something that still irritated the daemon prince to no end.

* * *

Meanwhile on the surface world the beastkin capered and howled. Mocking challenges and lewd gestures designed to enrage were leveled at the garrison. Human captives were sacrificed by sadistic ungors. Behind the walls Boris mustered his armies and studiously ignored the advice of his more cautious advisers. Boris had cleared away the trees for miles around the city for a reason- Khazrak had no means here to conduct an ambush. At least, none visible. Bitter experience had taught the old count not to underestimate his rival's ingenuity. Eagle masters and wizards of the Amber Order- the three that resided in the city- were employed to scout for potential traps as Boris, never patient at the best of times, waited testily.

* * *

Elsewhere, a third force congregated. Clan Eshin had been persuaded to lend its shadowy might to the daemon's cause, persuaded by a combination of promises, threats and outright daemonic beguilement. The daemon wasn't subtle in his persuasion and the most learned of the local Eshin cell knew both the history of this particular daemon and his nature. Fearing retribution as much as lusting for any promise of reward, Eshin somewhat reluctantly committed itself to the task at hand.

Fortunately, the daemon had indeed paid at least part of its price. From the daemon's whispered words the Skaven received the locations of the warpstone stashes of every major Chaos cult in Middenheim, along with useful intel on how to bypass their magical defenses. Some of the despots were already known to the masters of the shadows, who had been siphoning off portions in secrecy whenever they could do so without notice. Other stashes had yet been penetrated by the Skaven and some few had lay beyond even their awareness! How the daemon acquired such a wealth of knowledge, observations that even Eshin struggled to acquire baffled the Skaven clan.

Eshin could assassinate, could infiltrate and could sabotage yet, to get to the position where they could indulge in their clan's specialties; sometimes the aid of other clans was required. With this newfound wealth, Clan Eshin hired contractors from Clans Skyre and Moulder at truly excessive sums, for only the warp-engineers and fleshcrafters had the tools needed to carry out the daemon's mysterious designs. Warp-grinder teams and specially trained rat ogres, even drilling machines and burrowing behemoths- the pinnacle of each clan's equipment- were recruited without hesitation.

Such excessive spending from a clan known for their relative frugality would no doubt have attracted attention from the rest of the council- if Eshin allowed it to be shared. Eshin were the eyes and ears of the council. The great rulers of Skavendom heard what Eshin allowed them to hear, saw what the masters of shadow allowed them to see. Eshin desired neither and already the lord of the expedition, the newly anointed assassin Sneakblade, maneuvered to seal the fates of his so-called allies once the mission was finished.

For the first time in ages the Skaven leader dug to assault not those on the surface, but a force of the deeps. The Daemon had been coy, mysterious and non-descriptive about the force that awaited the Skaven in the depths of Middenheim, only that it was neither Dwarf nor man. When an Eshin representative attempted to press the daemon, even delicately, about the nature of said force the daemon held up a hand and with that gesture fur and skin of the questioner ran like a immolated skavenslave. Understandably, further questions were stifled and the daemon left with but a single promise – the attentions of said force would be occupied by the Daemon Prince himself, and the Skaven need not worry about a prolonged fight.

Sneekblade had. This whole mission reeked of suspect motives and aethyric half-truths. His superiors had ordered him to lead the assault, so he had to obey, but the Skaven leader had made sure to take every precaution. Even now thirteen clawpacks- the sacred number of the Great Horned One- frantically dug through the earth towards the target destination. Two hundred Skaven in total, comprising of specialists from Skyre, Moulder and Eshin, the various beasts of Hell Pit, and a small horde Skaven slaves, each grouping led by a deathrunner. The Daemon had asked for a 'small discreet force 'and Sneekblade had provided….by Skaven standards of course.

* * *

Deeper and deeper Be'lakor and his cohorts went. The age worn and crumbling architecture of man gave way to the grimed but still functional artifices of Dwarfs. The Runes of the mountain dwellers temporarily drove the cultists into agony but they were built to keep out far lesser creatures than Be'lakor. After allowing his cohorts to suffer for a few moments of delicious suffering, he snarled an incarnation that caused runes to simmer and shatter. Not giving his followers any time to recover, the Daemon pressed forward.

The cult and the ungors- numbering in the hundreds- struggled to keep up with the daemon prince, who radiated the only light source in the tunnels. Some were not fast enough and were lost to the tunnels. Occasionally screams would echo off the walls as one of these stragglers met one of the terrible and mutated creatures that lived within the dark confines. Those who managed to keep up with the Daemon Prince were, of course, safe- even the maddened monsters of the dark recoiled in fear from the aura of sheer malevolence and hate that the shadow prince exuded.

Eventually, the Dwarf works began to fade to be replaced by designs that were significantly older and colder. Made of unmeltable ice and nearly unbreakable rock formation the tunnels radiated antiquity that predated even the mortal lifespan of Be'lakor. The Tzeentchi cultists marveled at the sensation of old magic as Be'lakor momentarily allowed himself to relieve more glorious times, when he had led a vast legion of daemons and corrupted men through these very tunnels.

Finally the Daemon Prince and his entourage emerged from the darkness into sudden light. The cavern was vast, shaped like the jaws of a snarling wolf. Eight crudely wrought pillars lined the cave and in the center of that was a great billowing flame even taller than the daemon prince, emerging from an impossibly frozen altar. In all, the room was as large as one of those antiquated stadiums that crumbled in the Southern Realm of Tilea.

Be'lakor grinned at how far his nemesis had fallen. Once, the cavern would have been the size of the city above, the flame itself the size of the Empire's largest cathedral. As close as Be'lakor was to it now, the daemon knew that all of his followers would have been immolated instantly and even in his heyday the Daemon Prince would have been wounded by it. The daemon began to circle the fire, like a wolf waiting for the bear to bleed out.

"At the Dawn of Time that flame would have been the great beating heart of a vast colossus of ice. Now it is all you have left. The Empire that you helped build now regards you as an obsolete relic. Spurning your worship for that of the boy-god, the very fleshling you helped ascend in the first place. "

Ulric recognized his old foe, felt hate ten thousand years distant swell in his old bones. A voice, colder than the bitterest winter, returned the daemon's hateful taunts.

"So speaks Be'lakor the friendless, Be'lakor the hated. Abandoned by his lieutenants, abandoned by his legions and abandoned by the gods he once served. He who has spent the last ten millennia capering in the ruins of his own glory, maddened beyond reason, a laughingstock across creation. I have not sunk to your depths, creature. "

Be'lakor bristled at his public humiliation before contenting himself with the knowledge that none of the mortals who overheard would live for much longer. At the altar wolves began to form, creatures made of incorporeal bone and ice. Most carried with them the lupine forms of the creatures of the nearby forest however a few were a mixture of wolf and men- Ulric's own creation of mixing his worshippers with that of his favorite beast. Be'lakor remembered that the Chaos Gods had loved that the concept so much that they had blessed whole tribes of men with the 'gift' in the Dawn days.

"No, wolf god, you have sunk deeper than I ever could. For I contain the essence of every Chaos god- the only Daemon Prince to achieve such a feat- and not even my former benefactors can take that away from me. The faith of their worshippers empower me as much as any other of my kind. Scraps at times, I admit, but enough to rebuild my power and strength. Already I stand on the verge of reclaiming not only my former glory but expanding it beyond your comprehension. Meanwhile your worshippers are dying or abandoning you for more...relevant gods."

The wolves, dozens of them, were fully formed now. They began to circle the cultists, who brandished primitive swords and axes of steel that would ultimately do little against the magical wolves. Only the cult's magus and the dark emissary had the power to properly challenge the wolves.

"You refer, of course, to that fallen Templar of Sigmar who you hope to elevate as Everchosen."

Surprised, Be'lakor paused.

"Oh yes, I know, as does the hammer god and, likely, your cursed masters. The tendrils of your filthy influence were already present when the young templar visited my city and if I can see your filthy soul-stench your masters likely could, too. Everything you try, every plan you scheme, fails. You think the templar as a vessel but in reality, he is your final replacement. "

"You have grown asinine and senile, old god. The fleshing you mention is nothing more than armor waiting to be worn. A sword waiting to be wielded. With the boy's destiny fulfilled the world will be mine. And your power will help me claim that destiny. "

With a wave of his hand he ordered the Tzeentchi minions and accompanying ungors into battle. The humans gave a cry as they rushed the Ice Wolves, who gave a howl of their own. As the Daemon Prince had predicted, the humans and beasts were insufficient to the task. Triumphant cries and mocking laughter turned to shrieks and pleas very quickly, as enchanted ice tore through flesh like a butcher's cleaver. Blades and arrows either passed through or only made the smallest dents, as if the creatures were made of solid stone. Only two among them had the power to withstand the arctic onslaught. The Magus and Dark Emissary each launched a volley of dark magic that blasted apart the wolves.

* * *

A thousand feet below, Sneekblade and his cadre arrived at the designated coordinates, the first to arrive. His cautious eyes darted around his destination, taking in the chamber with the ease and speed of one used to quickly assessing a new environment. From outer appearances it was a vast, frozen cavern, easily the size of a full burrow-den, glistening at the top with stalactites made of crystalized ice. A curious notion, for temperature was often warmer underground than above. However, with Sneekblade's hidden gift, a ability that Eshin denied to the wider Skavendom, Sneekblade could see the presence of the Aethyr rampant here.

Other Skaven clawpacks rapidly arrived, the deathrunner leaders alternating between insincere flattery for Sneekblade's quick arrival and petulant excuses over the inefficiency of Skyre creations and Moulder monstrosities. Sneekblade paid them little heed and instead opted to count the accompanying battlegroups. He reached ten, before pausing. Two absences were expected, for the Warplock Engineers had maintained contact with one another through those strange, speaking devices 'known as 'Farsqueekers".

One, or the survivors of one, had complained of their tunneling behemoth going frothing mad with overstarved hunger. From what Sneekblade had heard, some Beastmasters deliberately starved the beasts to heighten aggressiveness and ferocity, arrogant in their presumptions of control. Evidently, that assumption had proven false and if the Sneekblade's Skyre attendant Skizzlekob could be believed, it that the Beastmaster was the first to fall victim to the beast's appetites followed by many others before a well-placed jezzrail round ended its rampage.

There was no word from the second, though Sneekblade's attuned hearing thought he heard a distant rumble even through the many tons of earth, a rumble distinct enough as to signify a Clan Skyre explosion. Of course Skizzlekob denied such an occurrence or even the mere possibility. "Unless a rival clan had sabotaged-broke it" the Warplock engineer said, looking pointedly at the nearest Clan Moulder representative.

As for the third…

Skizzlekob had put on his strange hat of wires and metal, which apparently allowed them to communicate back and forth. As the engineer turned knob that he said would tune the 'frequency' to allow communication with the third, piercing cries blew out of the device at such a volume that even Skaven well distant of the device could hear it. Fur stood straight up on the backs of necks as the agony of the speakers was beyond anything even the experience Sneekblade had ever heard. Melding with it in the background, lightly detectable to Skaven's trained ears, was a sort of sonorous chanting of a sort similar to what he once encountered in the north, yet different all the same. Hastily, the warplock engineer shut off the communicator.

Retchet and Skizzlekob both spoke hurriedly, the latter accusing the beasts of his rivals of deed while the former spoke fearfully, his tail quivering, of the 'Deep-Things'. Skizzlekob snorted aloud and accused Retchet of falling back on old fairy tales to hide his clan's sabotage. Moulder denied it and spoke of disappearances in the lowest rungs of Hell Pit, how the mightiest of beasts would sometimes wander off only to be discovered with strange wounds later, if they were discovered at all. Strange tunnels were sometimes found, he said, that were clearly not of Skaven make. Skizzlekob only poured more scorn on his foe in response, accusing Retchet of believing the crazed theories of Wellstalock. That old Warplock Engineer, long discredited and derided as an idiot-fool Skizzlekob added, had once claimed that the Skaven did not dominate the underealm as they so liked to think and that, further below, entire predatory civilizations waited, lusting for the day where they would rise to assault Skaven holdings.

As his compatriots bickered Sneekblade kept his silence, not wanting to speak of what he knew. There were many secrets known only to the highest rungs of Clan Eshin and this was one of them.

It was also irrelevant to the task at hand. What was was the item, a curious floating orb about four hundred tail lengths from their position. It hovered, flamboyantly, a arrogant display from one who apparently never entertained the idea of visitors this deep. Or, more likely, a fateful and obvious lure, a proverbial mouse trap for the would-be invaders. The lure was manifest now, where was the spring?

Suspicious, Sneekblade reacted the same way that virtually all Skaven commanders did when confronted with a new situation. He sent the slaves in first.

* * *

Meanwhile, up above, the wolf-godd's forces and the dwindling servants of the Dark Master clashed amidst a wintry cavern, as the Old God brought his chosen element to bear against the intruders. Joints ached and limbs stiffened as the cold dampened the mortal intruder's senses and slowed their reaction times. Bereft of any real ability to harm the ice-creatures(save for the magic users), to defend from their attacks or even react fast enough, the despairing horde made to retreat back to the tunnels. Only the most devoted cultists and the emissary stood firm.

Four wolves foolishly leapt for Be'lakor, only for the Daemon Prince to then eviscerate them with a lazy wave of his shadow-blade. Instantly, they reformed out of cold air. A dozen more- and two wolfmen- charged the Daemon Prince.

Now the Prince revealed the true reason for his entourage. Using a trick learned from the shadows Be'lakor's right hand reached back. Without looking back he cast the incarnation, draining the life and indeed very souls of the cultists, their magus and even the emissary, for what true value did an individual mortal have to a would-be god? It was fuel for the burning inferno that was the daemons own soul. With a shockwave of malevolent energy the daemon disintegrated the dozens of ice spawn poised to strike. Ice shards hit the stone walls with such force that they sunk deep into them.

However, moments later the ice reversed and reformed on top of the great flame, a contradiction only possible with the power of magic. From its depths emerged a towering man with a wolfskin helm and flowing beard. Even in stature to the Daemon Prince, the god of ice formed a great sword between his hands. Be'lakor smirked, knowing that although no immortal could truly wield the full forces of the Aethery in the mortal realms, seeing Ulric's flesh form still provided an indication of the force available in the Other realm. It was significantly reduced.

Of course, the knowledge of Be'lakor's own reduction did not even cross his mind. Pride could be a blinding force.

With speed beyond his own mortal worshipers, the sword of Ice crossed with Belakor's blade of shadow.

"You think I do not see through this feint, filth?"

Ulric leaned closer, until his weatherworn face was just a foot from Be'lakor's.

"I know about the vermin you hired to steal the godgate beneath me. They are being ...dealt with, even now. "

* * *

Slaves, trapped between their own masses and the otherworldly lupine forms that had suddenly manifested in their mists, screeched and cried as great forms of ice tore through furred flesh with incredible speed. In desperation, hey fought back with frothing strength however their desperate blows seemed only to fade through or, for the more corporal ones, leave no dent whatsoever. As the slaves realized the fight was utterly hopeless and sought to retreat from whence they came, a team of Warpflame Throwers unleashed their deadly arsenal. Screeches turned to piteous cries as the flame charred scores of slaves to a crisp but not before melting eyes in their sockets and causing skin to run like melted grease. A worthwhile sacrifice, in the calculus of pitiless Skaven minds, for the trace elements of magical warpfire succeeded in doing what the slaves could not- destroying the mysterious ice wolves. Sneekblade grinned in triumph.

It was premature. To Sneekblade's astonished sight, the magical bindings in the wolves, though charred, flared again to life and swiftly, in a few eye blinks, the wolves of Ulric- even those most charred- began to swiftly reform. Realizing now that conventional victory was impossible Sneekblade sent the rest of the slaves in together with Moulder Beasts, ordered his Skyre teams to open fire, and then sent his deathrunners in for a classic snatch and grab. He needn't have bothered with the last order, for the deathrunners – out of either a desire to impress their master or steal glory for themselves- were already creeping through the carnage.

Yet they didn't get far. One, climbing through the stalactites on the ceiling, had his hand frozen to one of the lesser icicles. As the skaven tried desperately to free himself, his feet were also frozen as ice rapidly spread across his lower limbs. Then, the tiny shards of ice above his belly grew rapidly, drilling agonizingly through the Eshin Agent. Another, weaving through the wolves with supernatural agility, slipped and skated as the floor rapidly turned to ice. The second Deathrunner was torn apart by the wolves even as he struggled to right himself, with the lupine beings seemingly now bothered by the slippery ground at all.

Seeing as the regular stealth tactics were also not an option, Sneekblade mustered his magics to his being, drawing upon the teachings of the Far East. He would use Skitterleap, the most staple of Eshin spells, to teleport to the artifact, and then swiftly teleport back. The act of doing so would, of course, ensure the subsequent assassination of everyone else in this mission barring the deathrunners, for the existence of Clan Eshin sorcerers was a closely guarded secret, one only the highest echelons of the command were permitted to know…

However, right as he was about to cast the spell, his whiskers- the embodiment of his heightened instincts- twitched violently. On a whim, he switched the target of his spell, teleporting instead a nearby deathruhnner through the space.

Or at least he tried to. At the last second something disrupted his spell, a gargantuan aethyric presence that dwarfed any he had ever encountered, even superseding the most learned of the Grey Seers or the Celestial magi. The Deathrunner did not manifest by the artifact, instead the unfortunate skaven was forcibly merged with the ice wall in a segregated mass of fur, limbs and frost.

Against any mortal foe, Sneekblade would be confident to the point of arrogance. However, the Skaven was quickly beginning to expect his opponent here was not mortal….

* * *

Shards of Ice exploded from the sword, tearing into the wings and face of the daemon prince. The Prince roared in agony and unleashed another shockwave of shadow energy. The ice-worn giant absorbed the energy, though with effort and grimacing. At points of the great form the Ice began to melt, or else grow a sickly grey. Still the god managed to form his ice-lips into a gruesome imitation of a smile

"In the time before time your true creators entrusted to me the artifact and I have never betrayed that charge! Neither you nor your cowardly vermin nor groveling cultists will ever steal it!"

Screaming hate and spite the sword of shadow clashed with its icy counterpart unleashing otherworldly sparks that could sear souls. Then, the blade went through its frozen counterpart, phasing rather than breaking through. Corporality returned right as it entered the god's arm.

Snarling in pain and rage, the wolf-god punched the daemon prince with the raw elemental force of an avalanche. Be'lakor was sent crashing into the opposite cave wall, the impact powerful enough to create a small crater. Ulric didn't let the prince recover. Dozens of tons of Ice crashed against the Daemon's form, crushing one of the Daemon's wings and causing another bellow of pain.

"Look at you! I may be a shadow of my former glory but you are even less! You're a Shadow's shadow, a forgotten prince turned into the lowliest pauper!"

Belakor's incorporeal claws raked Ulric's face, scoring yard deep gashes. Ulric's brutal responsive backhand dazed the Daemon Prince and the ice sword driven into the daemonic gut caused him to cry was cut off as the giant's gnarled hand closed violently around the daemon's neck. At the giant's weathered command the wounds began to freeze .

" I may no longer have the ability to destroy you utterly, filth, but I can freeze you in the coldest ice in existence! You will thaw for the rest of eternity! "

The ice began to spread rapidly now, the daemon's torso now encased in it. Be'lakor found himself utterly unable to move. Ulric's grim looked positively daemonic, the insane rictus of a dying god gifted a last opportunity of vengeance against a hated nemesis.

"Your plot with the Vermin reeks of desperation. . The wolf can devour the rat just as well as the cat- your Skaven never had a fragment of a chance. "

Though much of his body had been made numb with pain and frozen by ice, Be'lakor still maintained control of his face. Features of pain morphed into that of triumph

"I am aware….Old Wolf" Be'lakor spat, maliciously "….which is why I never relied on the Skaven for this task."

Ulric's blizzard worn features contorted into horror as, deep below, a living shadow enveloped the sanctified artifact of the Old Race.

The Skaven and the Beastmen and the Cultists had been, from the beginning, a distraction. Be'lakor had even used himself to occupy Ulric's attention though it chafed the Daemon Prince's pride to do so. All so that his servant-in-shadow, using a realm that had been hereto unknown to either Ulric or Be'lakor, could steal the artifact.

Momentarily, the Frost god broke his attention, stunned and panicked by the theft. This was a mistake, for the daemon that writhed in his grasp remained untamed. Quick as a viper, the daemon turned its free arm incorporeal and summoned the Sword of shadows to it. Then, just as the god turned back to Be'lakor, the blade cleaved through the distracted hand. As Ulric roared in horror Be'lakor gathered all his remaining might and unleashed a shockwave of shadowy magic so powerful that it slammed the god of winter into the opposite cavern wall, creating a several meter crater.

Initially, Be'lakor had sought to both steal the artifact AND finish the Wolf god off to absorb his power. However arrogance gave way to evidence as the Daemon Prince was forced to hatefully acknowledge that the Wolf God's power, though diminished, was in no way as diminished as his own. So the Prince took incorporability and fled through the shadows, taking comfort in the howls of rage and despair from Ulric. Chuckling slightly, the Daemon Prince fled through the Pathways of the Old Ones, to rendezvous with his Servant in Shadow in Norsca. The remaining Skaven, too, also made their hasty escape as the Winter God's cries of rage howled like the wind of the bitterest blizzard.

* * *

Meanwhile, the Elector Count of Middenheim had grown tired of the attempted siege of the city. With his magical scouts reporting no evidence of an ambush, the elector count prepared to match out to do battle. He needn't have been worried for Khazrak had no intention of fighting on an open field nor breaking his own army on the Empire's most fortified citadel. Moreover, he could tell, via his new shaman Malagor, that the Daemon Prince had not fulfilled his end of the bargain. The Light of Ulric still shined bright over the city and without that light extinguished the prospect of seizing the city, always improbable with the greatest of armies, was now impossible.

Still he had struck fear into the hearts of man today, and embarrassed Todbringer by sacrificing scores of his citizens on the pathways to his own capital. Khazrak knew that most men were like the cattle they lorded over, needing protection from the lords and gods that ruled them. They were weak, like sheep before a slaughter, with only a few Wolves such as Todbringer among them. Motivated by their fear Khazrak knew there would be many questions tonight about whether their one eyed count could truly offer protection. Todbringer's star would be diminished and he would be that much more determined to avenge himself on Khazrak.

Of course, what Khazrak did not know at the time was that he would face his own leadership questions, even challenges tonight. For the Skaven never offered their services for free and though Be'lakor had haggled their services down greatly through sheer fear even he knew that, to ensure Skaven would actually perform their task (or most likely perform their task) they needed to be offered something tangible. And so Be'lakor had bribed them- by offering the vermin the location of every Beastmen sacred shine around- many of which were bristling with Warpstone- and with the promise that Khazrak's horde would be too preoccupied to properly respond in defense. Unlike his promise to the Beastmen, this one was kept as the Braylord would soon find out, much to his braying rage and oaths of vengeance.

* * *

Meanwhile the Daemon Prince stepped back through the veil of reality, having narrowly evaded many of the gloating daemons that he had once led to innumerable victories across the cosmos. There would be legendary reckonings to be had, one day.

As Be'lakor looked around at the silent, frozen and, most of all, unoccupied meeting space his fury, already red hot, rose to literally boil whole yards around him. It seemed that one of those reckonings would happen sooner rather than later.

Hundreds of miles away, along the northern edge of Norsca, of the rebellious shadow-thing pulled from its insubstantial cloak a eternally swirling orb. Symbols, written in a long forgotten language by long dead hands, glowed bright gold against the shadow's pitch-black frame. It understood many of the symbols, for these were words of magical power which the daemons had long since bastardized and inspired in equal measure. Chanting words of power not uttered in centuries, the Shadow-Creature began to open the portal.

Had the shadow wished it, the world would have died then and there. By opening a third portal to the realm of Chaos it would have flooded the world with so much raw Chaos that the Great Vortex would have been hopelessly overwhelmed and those it protected would be thrown to the nightmares that waited, longingly, for them.

Yet in this one respect the shadow had been true to its alliance with Be'lakor. Neither it, nor its True Masters, sought the destruction of this world. Unlike Be'lakor, however, It did not seek to hold the world hostage to regain the blessings of the gods(like they would sincerely follow through with the request, anyway).

Faster and faster, the orb began to spin. Reality was torn, sundered and then reopened. Through a gap in the world, at first no larger than a fist, then expanding to that of man, an ogre, a mammoth, and then larger still. Another reality, whose environment and geography were vastly different from the frozen tundra, slowly materialized into being.

The shadow was roughly a featureless mass, distinguished only by the two glowing orbs that were its eyes. Yet even without a mouth to smile the triumph was palpable nonetheless. In a single act it had opened up paths and possibilities that not even the great Changer of Ways could foresee. Worlds would be bound together. The dying rot of this corpse-world would no longer just be an issue of this planet's inhabitants but another burden forced upon a far greater world, a world that had withstood everything thrown against it: Azeroth.

* * *

A/N: And that's a wrap!

Now, to address two things I think are going to mentioned based on my beta readers.

If Ulric was not distracted by a duel with a bitter old enemy, if he was not distracted by directing his forces against the Skaven, watching Beastmen above, and all the stuff a god does in the warp (fending off incursions into their warp sphere of influence), if he was familiar with the realm the shadow-servant came from or had any inkling of either the thing or its home realm's existence….than Ulric would have been able to stop the creature. As it was circumstances worked in the Shadow's favor just this once.

Clan Eshin assassins don't typically lead, however the old Eshin army list in Storm of Chaos does set up the possibility of a few individuals being capable of doing just that. Moreover, of all the great clans Clan Eshin is the least explored, as the home bases of Clan Skyre (Skavenblight), Pestilens (Lustria) and Moulder ( Hell Pit) are all well shown, while Eshin's Nippon stronghold is only ever referred to in passing. Who knows what secret units the ninja rats have at their disposal…


	2. Tomb of Sargeras

Disclaimer: I own nothing, Blizzard owns almost all this chapter...except the small part that belongs in never-developed GW territory. Also this chapter is a alternate retelling of the Tomb of Sargeras audio drama at points.

Cold, Dark and Silent. Three small words described that which encompassed the overwhelming majority of the universe. A great, dark, fathomless ocean in which bright flotsam, some of which dated from the dawn of creation, drifted, flickered and danced throughout. This luminous cosmic debris blazed brightly across the cosmos, driving away the shadows that dwelt around them and shining like a brilliant beacon across all of reality. At times the great lights would flicker and die, folding into a hole so dark and black that no light could escape. At others, stars would form and then emerge from the dark, providing a guiding light that could pierce through the void.

In between this confrontation of prime elemental powers, life formed on the planets orbiting these great suns. To the mortal mind, the light brought warmth, direction, clarity and, ultimately, life while the dark brought despair, coldness and death. Yet no few theorists pointed out that while the light may bring life, it was also blinding, stiffing and devoid of privacy, its light ever shining. The dark, they said, obscured the too-revealing light and provides privacy, contemplation, choice and, ultimately, freedom. The truth remained elusive to both sides, for neither the brightest light nor darkest darkness could manifest in the physical realm- at least not yet. Few within the Great Dark Beyond knew of the monsters that hid in the deepest dark or the entities that existed within the blinding light.

The inhabitants of the Twisting Nether, however, were well aware that existence rested on the cornerstone of the light and shadow conflict. Though their own realm was more attuned to the eternal clash than physical reality, mortal universes too were formed by the event. However the veil between the light and shadow realms was far thinner in the Nether than in physical reality, resulting in much greater conflict. Driven to emotional extremes by endless elemental war the inhabitants of the Twisting Nether, daemons, sought an outlet for their own destructive desires. Always able to manifest easier with the mortal realm than the elementals, these daemons inflicted untold atrocities upon the inhabitants of the Great Dark Beyond.

At first uncoordinated, the denizens of the Nether were nevertheless able to corrupt or destroy millions of mortal civilizations and races across reality. Gifted with potent magical powers and effective immortality (for they could not die, under normal circumstances, in physical reality) few mortal civilizations were able to repel these invaders from the Other Realm. For a time only the greatest civilizations, together with a god-race known as the titans, were capable of repulsing the daemons; though the process was marred by the ability of the daemons to come back again and again. Only the extreme disunity; the petty, fractious nature of daemonkind prevented worse damage to the physical realm.

All that changed when Sargeras, the champion of the Titans, betrayed his ilk. Fearful of the shadow and deeming the universe fundamentally flawed, the fallen titan broke Maradum, the vast dimensional prison which contained countless daemons captured by the titans. He then unified these daemons, along with many of those in the Nether, into a vast crusade. He would burn all of reality to ash, so that the shadow could not corrupt it. In a cataclysmic series of battles felt across the universe, the first blows of this Burning Crusade obliterated the Titan Pantheon who had sought to stop their errant brother...

Bereft of their greatest defenders, the mortal realms were left vulnerable to the onslaught of daemonkind. Originally, only the lack of unifying leadership- other than the fallen titan at the top- prevented the full mobilization of the crusade, for Sargeras could hardly be everywhere at once, even when he split his soul into smaller but still impossibly powerful 'Avatars'. In frustration, Sargeras spent his efforts corrupting countless mortal species until he at last encountered the Eredar. Magically proficient, wise and technologically advanced, the Eredar- led themselves by the duo Kil'Jaden and Archimonde- would be the commanders of the crusade. If Sargeras was a god then the pair of Eredar would be his prophets.

Realities burned as the infinite legions assaulted uncountable planets across all possible timelines. Against a numberless foe respawning endlessly, no mortal civilization could withstand the onslaught. Primitive and advanced civilizations alike were immolated like dry leaves before the flame. A few, impossibly, managed to repel the initial invasion. Always, the daemons returned years later, having adapted to whatever tactic defeated them before.

The carnage only escalated as the masters of light and shadow also crossed over to the mortal universes in ever greater number. It is a great irony that the vast influx of daemonic fel magic into physical reality made it all the more easy for the forces of shadow and light to cross, thus giving them easier access to the mortals they both sought to feed on and convert. The daemonic purge whose primary purpose was to deny the mortal realm to the prime elements served to provide an opening for said elements onto the plane- though the most powerful lords of light and shadow were still unable to manifest.

Caught between the tri-threats of the prime elements and all destroying daemonic horde, life stood no chance. Across the multiverse worlds were conceived by action made moments before and then brutally destroyed moments later. Countless Worlds that barely survived the Burning Legion were driven to madness by the whispers of the void or else 'embraced' into the light's fold- willingly or otherwise. In the whole of the multiverse there was only one planet-and, specifically, one version of said planet- that truly defied the legion and which seized the lusting eyes of all three factions.

Azeroth.

The only planet in existence which had defeated multiple Legion invasions and foiled hundreds of Legion plots over the preceding ten millennia. Through the uncanny strength of its mortal champions Azeroth still stood on top of the smoldering corpses of those that had attempted to conquer it over the years. The light and the shadow were both present in the world and used widely by the mortals. However, these mortals subverted the goals of these prime elements and entered into cooperation with one another, if an uneasy one.

The uncanny ability of these mortals to achieve success over cosmic forces- and not just on their home world- threatened to change the unsustainable status quo of reality. Their power, though minuscule compared to the total potential of their opponents, nevertheless blazed bright across the cosmos. Even now, on a planet their own in a universe that was not their own, these mortals achieved an impossible victory; Archimonde, the Defiler, the Left Hand of Sargeras, lay dead, shattered by Azerothi hands forever.

However, even as the champions of Azeroth and the saved inhabitants of a formerly doomed world celebrated, they remained unaware of the greater cosmic struggle or the new powers that would soon enter. Only one among that task force had any vague awareness of the state of the greater universe: Khadgar.

* * *

Even as he stood triumphant over the smoldering corpse of Archimonde the Defiler, Khadgar could feel no sense of triumph. When he was an apprentice of Medvih he had dived deep into the secret journals of his master and had an inkling, though not an approximation, of the Legion's true scale. He knew that the death of a daemon lord, even one as important as the Defiler, would not impact the Legion's operations. Only the fall of Sargeras could do that and, unfortunately, both he and the cunning Kil'Jaden had yet to reveal their hands.

Yrel, the champion and new leader of this universe's Draenei, could see that even if there other allies could not. The Draenei always knew for their war with their own fallen kin, the Eredar, had spanned entire aeons. Thus when Khadgar told her of his theories her face hardened into a mask of determination rather than of weariness. "If you ever need us, we will be here."

It was a promise, one she intended to keep. Khadgar could see it in her eyes. He also knew that the honor of Durotan would never allow him to reject a call for help from one who had provided so much aid, and thus the Frostwolves- along with the remnants of many tribes who had come to ally with him- would come. Turning to regard one more figure, he frowned. Grommash Hellscream had been their initial enemy, only to be replaced after he was dethroned by Gul'dan, who himself was backed by the Burning Legion. In truth Khadgar trusted the father of Garrosh, who was as bloodthirsty as his son, little. Yet the chieftain's hatred of demonkind could not be denied nor could the respect Grommash still commanded among the former Iron Horde. Thus, Khadgar thought that he could be relied upon to fight the Legion when they returned.

The Champions of Draenor still had many challenges before them. The remnants of Kilrog's fel-corrupted tribe needed to be rooted out of Taanan, the Breakers-Fungals needed to be tamed, and the Arakkoa were still struggling with how to integrate a society segregated by thousands of years of hatred and mistrust. Even those challenges paled in comparison to the likely leadership squabbles between Grommash and Durotan - though, if fighting broke out, Khadgar suspected Durotan would have the aid of both the Arakkoa and Draenei. Alas those were the problems of Draenor alone right now. While a few tradesmen and settlers from Azeroth might stay behind, their military forces and adventurers would be needed back on Azeroth as Khadgar was positive that was the Burning Legion's next target.

However, first Khadgar had another objective. Gul'dan was still out there. Though the Archmage knew that Gul'dan was but a pawn in the grand scheme of things, the orc warlock had proven incredibly dangerous and the Archmage had no doubt that, if left unchecked, he would bring yet more sorrow. Fortunately, the warlock had bled heavily in the last battle, blood which would retain the faintest essence of the orc's corrupted soul. Moreover, the Archmage had a lead on the source of Gul'dan's staff which might help triangulate the warlock's location further. And with that, Khadgar could track him across the scope of the entire planet- or beyond, if necessary.

* * *

As Khadgar and the otherworldly champions left the planet, the native Draenei and Orcs were left to rebuild their shattered world.

The world quaked. The nominal wars of mortals, no matter how explosively charged, would normally mean little to such an entity but, in their greed for victory, the Iron Horde had unleashed far greater horrors than their kind could create. Already the taint of Fel- the very essence of ruin- had sunk its claws deep into the planet and though its normal daemonic purveyors were gone (for now) the wound had yet to be healed.

A few Azerothian allies had stayed, with full knowledge that the Bronze Dragonflight would wedge the way shut after the last of the Azerothian champions exited the realm. This they did selflessly, out of love for this planet or its inhabitants (to some, a very personal love), or selfishly, such as the goblin port down that foresaw new opportunities outside of the ruling cartel's sphere of influence. Both acknowledged the dire threat of Fel and spoke of planets condemned to a slow death from its insidious influence. Indeed, they spoke of another Draenor in another universe that died choking on its own corrupted lifeblood.

The remaining Kaldorei and Tauren druids, vowing to honor those of the Draenei who had fought so valiantly alongside them, were even now trying to heal Tanaan Jungle, though even they acknowledged the depressing odds of such an endeavor. After all, the Cenarion Circle itself had tried for years to heal the tainted land known as Felwood and as of the present they had only met mixed success.

The Draenei were nothing if not determined though, for recent events had proven their fortitude and strength. They had weathered the storm of the Iron Horde and Legion both and, in their eyes, paid the greatest contribution towards the ultimate victory. Oh they freely conceded the aid of Azeroth had been incredibly instrumental, and without their support victory would not have been possible, but in their eyes the other factions of Draenor had only battled the Iron Horde on periphery or worse, been a part of it. After all, with the exception of one invasion to wipe out the Frostwolves of Frostridge it was the Draenei controlled settlements of Shattarath, Auchindon, Telmor, Telaar and the Black Temple, among others, that had dominated Iron Horde and Legion's campaigning.

Yet, their determination was tempered by uncertainty. For the first time in over 30,000 years, they were bereft of the moral guidance of the Prophet Velen, who had led their people even before the coming of Sargeras. With his demise the most influential source of continuity from Old Argus, the only figure who could remember with crystal clarity that golden age of the Eredar, was gone. In lesser civilizations, Velen would have been considered a god and his death treated like an apocalyptic event. Only Velen's decision to delegate most secular authority to the Exarchs prevented total catastrophe; at least the government still worked.

However, spiritual leaders they were not and the exarchs were helpless to calm their people's anguish. Or, at least, none of the older generation of exarchs could.

Into this light stepped their newest exarch: Yrel. In the span of a few months she had risen from a novice priestess to a legend that seemed straight from the most ancient mythos. On her brow she carried the same symbol that Velen once possessed, a powerful relic handed down by the prophet himself. Her mastery and devotion to the light could not be denied by even the most hardened sceptic. Nor, could her knowledge of the battlefield and campaign, for Yrel had worked closely with the Alliance commander to ensure victory on all fronts.

Sought after to manage both her people's secular and spiritual needs, not since Prophet Velen's flight from Argus did a Draenei have so much weight on their shoulders. Indeed, the pressure on her may have been greater, for Velen at least had his visions and millennia of prior leadership to draw from, while Yrel only had newfound glory and a deep devotion to the Light.

Still, she took to the challenge with noteworthy optimism and enthusiasm inspired, in part, by her adventures and experiences with the Outlanders. Their coalitions had provided inspiration for Yrel to try the same. Already she had broached the idea of a summit to her fellow exarchs, a summit that she hoped would bring unity to all the races of the world.

Such cooperation would be needed for the challenges ahead, both to save their world and for the final battle against the Burning Legion. It was a fight she looked forward to having soon, for the entire history of her people since the exile from Argus had been preparing themselves for that final campaign.

And, light willing, she would do battle alongside the greatest heroes and champions reality had ever produced!

* * *

 _2 months later, on Azeroth_

At long last, guided by his master's will, Gul'dan had arrived on the Broken Isles. The journey had not been easy, even with a guiding hand. Gul'dan had several run-ins with the mage pursuers of the Kirin Tor. Arcane and fel clashed in dazzling displays that illuminated the barren landscape Gul'dan had spent most of the time crossing. For the most part, they were once sided affairs as the brave but doomed Kirin Tor magus were outmatched by the greatest of mortal warlocks. There were only a few- Khadgar and the sorceress Jaina Proudmoore standing chief among them- who could match the orc in the contest of magical strength.

He had avoided the Proudmoore woman at the pass over Redbridge, though only barely. Knowing that the sorceress could track him through the Nether, Kil'Jaden had bade his apprentice to open a portal to a new realm that seemed defined by shadow, loneliness and despair that had, to the orc, seemed an even less welcoming than Azeroth. Frantic whispers and mad laughter battered his mind ceaselessly and even Kil'Jaden, whose physical presence was dimensions away, seemed uncharacteristically wary. Though no physical presence ever manifested it seemed to Gul'dan that the very shadows themselves had dogged his every step. It was with incredible relief that he had emerged by the sea- near what Kil'Jaden called Westfall- and stolen aboard a local merchant vessel. The crew had proven no match for the other world's mightiest warlock. He had used the adult's souls as nourishment for his own power while the children served as human shields for when the Kirin Tor did finally catch up.

After several days of grueling fighting that ended with shrill screams and a fel-fiery explosion, Gul'dan at last arrived at the Broken Isles. His power nearly depleted from the exhaustive journey, the warlock might have perished right there had not a foolish nightfallen, desperate for mana replenishment, attempted to sap the remaining life from Gul'dans veins. The Nightfallen's body, and those of his nearby brethren, proved to be excellent nourishment. The Warlock would have preferred to stop and rest however his master's ringing voice demanded he move forward.

And so Gul'dan moved, slowly, inexorably, to his final destination, pursued doggedly by Khadgar and the newly arrived Kal'dorei Wardens. The warlock warred with the overwhelming desire to kill his pursuers and his benefactor's desire for caution. Distrust and frustration were rife between them. From Kil'Jaden distrust, as the demon lord laid the death of his brother Archimonde at the failures of the orc warlock. However, more significantly (for in truth Kil'Jaden felt a sort of relief at Archimonde's death, for Archimonde had ever been Kil'Jaden's chief rival) Gul'dan had betrayed Kil'Jaden himself all those years ago when the orc had sought to claim the power of the Tomb of Sargeras for himself.

Likewise, Gul'dan grew increasingly frustrated as the journey continued. His master's distrust grated upon him as the demon lord constrained his every action. Even the slightest acts of resistance brought about threats to cut Gul'dan off from demonic aid- which was essentially a death threat, as Gul'dan knew well how many on this planet wanted to kill him. However, perhaps the most grating aspect was Archimonde's refusal to acknowledge that the Gul'dan who died on this world wasn't him!

How was he, an Orc Warlock whose association with Kil'jaden was relatively new and who had only just arrived on Azeroth within two months, supposed to answer for the 'crimes' of a Gul'dan who he had never met, crimes which he had never committed. The sins of an alternate self should not reflect across realities! How could the demon not see that? If the multiverse was, as the demon said, infinite than an infinite number of Gul'dans- hell an infinite number of Kil'jaden's- should exist. However, when Gul'dan mentioned this his mentor told the acolyte that he 'had the mind and ignorance of a child, like the rest of mortal kind.'

Gul'dan grumbled at this but, after two months of the same argument, was slowly coming to the conclusion that perhaps the problem wasn't that Kil'jaden was unwilling to differentiate between universes- he was unable too. Perhaps there was something to demonic psychology that made the distinction impossible. Did multiple versions of the Twisting Nether exist?

The ruminations were interrupted by Kil'jaden's urgent command- move. The window to open the portal was closing- Khadgar was closing in on his position, having no doubt guessed his intention. Gul'dan urgently broke through the wards of the underground tomb as fast as he could, hastily setting magical traps behind him as he did so. Though an apprentice mage cautious enough could evade them with ease Gul'dan knew that, for all of Khadgar's intelligence and power, the man was one of the most reckless individuals he ever met, exceeded only by the cursed Hellscreams. With luck, Khadgar would seriously injure himself on his way to confront Gul'dan.

The final wards, set by a powerful wizard long ago, proved difficult to crack. Nonetheless they were clearly century's old- and someone had given a shot at weakening them before he got here. Gul'dan avoided mentioning this out loud, however, as he wanted to avoid his master lecturing him on the Other Gul'dan's treachery. The fact was clear that someone had already done much of the work...

A bolt of arcane energy- powerful and controlled, more potent and beyond the capabilities of even a Gorian Magi-king- slammed into his back, the wards there only just serving to protect the Orc Warlock. Khadgar had arrived, and seemingly unharmed, too.

Snarling, Gul'dan turned his attention to the intruder. In a series of muttered curses, he unleashed a torrent of felfire meteors. The mage's arcane barrier proved sufficient at holding back the fel and Khadgar countered with a barrage of ice shards, three feet long and as sharp as gronnling fangs, that forced Gul'dan behind cover. There opening salvo performed, the pair weaved and maneuvered around each other, firing a dizzying variety of spells

 _Gul'dan, stop this_.

Flabbergasted, enraged beyond measure, the warlock questioned the Eredar Lord's command in disbelief, only to receive threats of de-powerment in response. When finally pressed, Kil'Jaden stated that the Legion had plans with Khadgar as much as with Gul'dan. This did nothing to calm the orc warlock. Couldn't the demon lord see that, if Khadgar wasn't dealt with, the portal wouldn't be opened and thus not one of demon's plans would come to fruition?

Gul'dan's pleas had no effect. Kil'Jaden made it clear his orders were a demand and not a suggestion. If Gul'dan persisted, he would be cut off from the Legion's power. Furious, the warlock nevertheless hid in the shadows as Khadgar sent both taunts and then, when that failed to flush Gul'dan out, a legion of arcane elementals to search every nook and cranny of the tomb. Gul'dan knew he had little time - doubtlessly, one of Khadgar's allies would eventually come. Gul'dan needed to incapacitate the mage. Or maybe, another solution was necessary. Growing up, he had watched plenty of orcs deal more damage than they intended to their fellows in the duels that so defined their tribal kind. Accidents happened after all; surely Kil'Jaden would understand this...

Gul'Dan nearly screamed in pain the second his fel torrent spell- hot enough to melt the stone columns of this tomb- was unleashed. Wordlessly, Kil'Jaden saw through Gul'Dan's guile and punished accordingly. Moreover, the mage still stood as his wards had been more than proficient in dealing with the blast. Cursing under his breath, Gul'dan retreated back in the shadows, using fel and shadow magic to cover his steps. Silently, he continued unbinding the seals that kept the demonic portal in place.

The mage continued his search, each second narrowing the range of possible locations. It would not take him too much longer to uncover the warlock. Still, the mage was uneasy. Gul'dan was clearly receiving mental directions from somewhere else and Khadgar feared he knew exactly who was supplying that direction. Khadgar needed Gul'dan's mind elsewhere. Thus, he told the most tantalizing and distracting story he knew- the story of what happened to this universes' Gul'dan.

Gul'dan quickly realized Khadgar's intent and pressed on, though a part of him paid close attention to the tale. His unbinding was close to completion- just a few more-

Khadgar noticed and, through spell trace, found Gul'dan's exact location. The fury of Khadgar's sudden arcane assault nearly broke Gul'dan's fel shield. Even with the protection Gul'dan was still thrown bodily against the wall. As Gul'dan recovered and Khadgar conjured yet another powerful spell, Kil'Jaden's frantic orders rang, telepathically, in his skull: kill him!

My, my, how quickly opinions changed.

Gul'dan mustered a burst of fel explosion that tore through layers and layers of stone, but which narrowly failed to break open Khadgar's shield. Still, the mage staggered under the intensity of the blast. As Gul'dan conjured another such blast a portal tore through reality a dozen feet above his head, while another appeared on the ground many meters in front of him, right beneath a large falling stalactite...

Narrowly he avoided being crushed. The orc warlock looked up and snarled, eager to destroy his rival for good.

The two dueled, evenly, across the breadth of the tomb. Fel fire, hot enough to melt steel into liquid, failed to burn through Khadgar's enchanted ice block. Bolts of arcane, powerful enough to blast open a castle gate, were absorbed into Gul'dan's palm. The magical forces of order and disorder clashed in a perpetual stalemate, seemingly capable of going on forever.

Gul'dan knew he could not. Sooner or later, one of Khadgar's allies would come and the balance would be altered. Already he could sense another presence, though faint, enter the tomb. Or the mage would succeed in destabilizing the tomb enough to where it would collapse. Whatever the case, time was short. Silently, under his breath, Gul'dan pleaded to Kil'Jaden for more power even as Khadgar continued the rest of his tale in between spells.

The demon lord was resistant, accusing Gul'dan of plotting betrayal just like 'he had before'. Gul'dan was at wit's end with his master's reasoning. Nothing Gul'dan said seemed to sway the demon lord. So Gul'dan gave an ultimatum of his own- empower him now or have the Burning Legion's plans fall into ruin.

Kil'jaden was silent for a moment, leaving Gul'dan to fear that his master had abandoned him, just as Gul'dan barely weathered a firestorm from Khadgar. Then, an influx of power came to the warlock as Gul'dan felt his veins widen from sheer influx of energy. Laughing madly, the warlock gathered his emboldened might for an all-powerful spell against the mage. But then the mage finished his tale.

Through his words, Khadgar dealt Gul'dan a more grievous wound than any of his spells had managed to inflict so far. Gul'dan had always assumed that his other-self had died at the hands of the Alliance or Horde, as so many other prominent orcs of Draenor had. Khadgar cast aside that illusion and revealed that the Other Gul'dan fell not from the swords of the Alliance or the axes of the Horde, but to the claws of demons.

Could it really be true? Did Kil'Jaden, despite his continual promises of granting Gul'dan immense power in return for service, really just view Gul'dan as nothing more than a useful pawn, to be discarded at will? Could he view Gul'dan in the same expendable fashion that Gul'dan viewed his own Shadow Council? As much as Gul'dan wanted to deny Khadgar's words, he somehow knew, instinctively, that his rival was telling the truth. Still, one enemy at a time...

With a twitch of his hand, Gul'dan unleashed his now empowered assault. A tsunami of Fel fire flooded the room towards the mage. Khadgar was surprised, fearful, not expecting the sudden burst of power. He turned into a block of ice. To Gul'dan's frustration, he could not break this fortification. Had Khadgar spread his arcane magic thin for a wide shield, the magic would have easily crumbled but here, condensed, the fortification was taking an obscene amount of effort to even crack!

So, instead, he hurled Khadgar beyond the entrance to the chamber and collapsed it on top of the mage for good measure. If the mage survived, he would be dealt with later. Now, for a more powerful foe. As Kil'jaden, pleased with victory, ordered Gul'dan to return the borrowed power and use it to break the final seal, opening the demon portal, Gul'dan refused.

Bitter recriminations flew out of the Orc's mouth as he accused the demon lord of viewing Gul'dan as nothing more than a pawn and for making false promises, stating that Kil'jaden would see fate repeat itself upon him. Kil'Jaden made no denials regarding other Gul'dan's fate (though he continued to fail to make the distinction between the two, irritating the orc immensely). Instead, Kil'jaden pointed out the other Gul'dan's betrayal, how the orc had sabotaged the Horde's victory in the second war in his own pursuit of power and thus foiled the plans of Sargeras himself! Gul'dan scoffed at this- what weight did the word of demons have, much less one who is literally known as the 'Deceiver'! Arrogantly, Gul'dan claimed that he would use this borrowed power to seize control of Azeroth and then enslave Kil'Jaden himself. He would be ruler of all and servant of none.

Kil'Jaden brushed off the threat, easily. What could the power of a world compare to the multiversal might of the Legion? Instead Kil'Jaden explained that everyone had a master - even him, Kil'Jaden, and though Gul'dan would always serve the demon lord, he would be master of uncounted worlds under the Legion's command. Growing weary of the conversation, Kil'Jaden stated in his parting words that he had never lied to the orc warlock and had always viewed him as a uniquely powerful individual. Now was the time for Gul'dan to choose between the unlimited power of the Legion or betrayal once more, to suffer the same fate as other Gul'dan if the mortals of this world did not deal with him first. Kil'Jaden then broke the connection, leaving the orc to simmer in its silence.

Not for long, however. Khadgar had returned and this time, brought a friend. Gul'dan recognized her as Maiev Shadowsong, the head Warden. Cordana had always spoken of her in incredibly fearful tones. It was no matter now, however, for Gul'dan knew he was more powerful than them both.

With a contemptuous wave of his hand, he dismissed Khadgar's conjured blizzard and then, with a lazy muttered incarnation, unleashed a bolt so powerful that Khadgar's arcane shield broke entirely and the mage was forced to teleport out of the way. Maiev teleported behind for a decapitating strike only to be forced to retreat after Gul'dan summoned a wall of fel flame without a so much as a glance behind him. Gul'dan chuckled to himself; his foes were horribly outmatched.

And yet... they did not stop. No matter how pitiful their attacks, they did not stop. Gul'dan actually began to put effort into his assaults, seeking to incinerate them into ash. And yet even though his blows were only barely avoided, even though defenses shattered before his might, even though the pair sustained wounds...they did not stop. Gul'dan's breath stopped as he contemplated not the pair before him but the _others_. Them. The champions of Azeroth.

Gul'dan remembered watching in awe as those champions led what every spy had told him was only a portion of Azeroth's might to unequalled victory over the Iron Horde. He remembered the sacking of Goria, the destruction of the Blackrock clan. How the unified force of Iron Horde backed up by impossible technology had crumbled like matchsticks before the flame. How even the intervention of the Legion, after Gul'dan took over the Iron Horde, had done nothing to change the tide. Those champions had smashed into Gul'dan's mighty citadel and then, in a cataclysmic battle, slew a mighty lord of the Burning Legion- Archimonde- himself.

Genuine horror spread through the orc's mind as contemplated beings far more tenacious than the Archmage before him. And there were uncounted thousands of them on Draenor- who knew how many on Azeroth, their home world. In a panic he asked the Archmage and Warden, still struggling against his assault, why they did not just give up? They were utterly outmatched in power. His questions were only met with gestures and words of defiance. They could die- indeed they probably would die- but they would never stop fighting.

Gul'dan saw that he stood at a fork in the path. He could have his freedom, his mastery, even his revenge to an extent. Yet, alone, he would eventually fall, his most prized possessions to be used as disposable trinkets by his slayers. Or he could survive, with an army at his back, but without the freedom he so desired.

It was in that moment he made his choice. He closed his eyes. With a groan, Gul'dan let his wondrous power slip from his grasp. Kil'jaeden seized it and sent it straight into the tomb. The walls glowed ever brighter, rivaling the midday sun. Gul'dan felt a keen sense of loss. All that power gone. The tomb was not simply using it; it was consuming it. Terrible sounds, magnificent sounds, deafening sounds, they heralded the creation of a bridge that joined two worlds. Suddenly the way was open. Air rushed from another plane of existence, roaring through the chamber at hurricane speeds. Khadgar and Maiev dropped to the floor, holding on.

And then he heard that familiar voice.

 _Well Done, Guldan. You did indeed have the vision I-_

Kil'Jaden paused, and for the first time Gul'dan detected confusion, doubt, and even fear through their mental link. The portal's composition simmered, the reality behind it altering in shadows. Gul'dan, attuned to the feeling of magic, felt it change from familiar fel to a mixture of the magic Gul'dan had detected on Cho'gall and...something else. Something, wilder.

Air rushed into the tomb, colder air yet thick with that strange magic. The portal began to open once again, revealing a region of ice.

"Master, what is happening?"

 _The portal has been compromised. Someone else controls its energies._

But who was powerful enough to seize the magic of Kil'Jaden, the mightiest demon lord of the Burning Legion? Gul'dan turned questionably - and a little fearfully-towards Khadgar. Had he underestimated the Archmage's power so drastically? But the Archmage and his companion were still struggling against the winds, their faces- or at least Khadgar's visible one- a mask of confusion.

And then Gul'dan felt it. A power reached through the portal, different yet strangely familiar, and seized the warlock. Then, before Gul'dan could muster the power to protest, he was bodily cast through the alternate reality and disappeared from sight.

Behind him Khadgar and Maiev recovered and stood once more. They turned to each other in wordless uncertainty, neither knowing what to make of the sudden turn of events. However, instinctively, both knew that this change brought not only a lapse from the Legion invasion but also a new challenge, as had every portal before this one. The lords of Azeroth would have to be alerted to this new threat.

* * *

Thousands of miles away, in a distant land, Gul'dan awoke.

His head pounded and he felt the residue of unknown magic all across his body. Yet he was alive, that much was sure. Aloud, he called Kil'Jaden by name, demanding answers only to be met with complete silence. The connection had been severed, for now.

Quizzically, the orc held out his hand. With an assertion of will fel fire poured into it, though with more difficulty than on Azeroth or Draenor. Still, Gul'dan breathed a sigh of relief- at least he had not lost that.

It was then Gul'dan registered commotion in the distance. Moving silently through fields of unknown grain, Gul'dan cautiously crept up a nearby hill. Muttering words he himself had invented, he conjured up one of his mystical eyes and sent it a dozen meters above the hillside.

Gul'dan transferred the eye's sight to his own and recoiled before the sight. Before him were two armies of humans, larger than any he had ever seen, dressed in unfamiliar arms and armor, clashing over a vast plain. Some fought under the cloak of what Gul'Dan dimly recognized as a dragon, though more serpent-like than what his spies had transcribed to him. Others fought with a multitude of weapons but those stood out were singular blades, long and balanced in the manner of Burning Blade Blademasters.

Gul'dan recoiled in panic : Where had the portal taken him?

AN: And that's a warp! Now onto the comments

KinglyCrimson This isn't his first time doing so and it won't be the last!

Aburg76 , Tobi14 and MadFrog2000 Thank you all!

Teefplucka Thank you, I think. I wanted to do one prologue chapter for Chronicles and about 4 for the other story. So the next posting on here will be full crossover (instead of turning to at the end) and there is one more prologue on the other one, this time a story from the viewpoint of Kil'Jaden.

TheFelRoseOfTerror Yes another Lovecraft fan!

EVA-Saiyajin As I said in a PM, thank you sir! I always find technical writing to be easier than the other, novelization forms that I am trying in the other set of stories.


	3. The Mover of Fate

Contact

Warily, the Archmage and Warden stood at the mouth of the portal, mystified by the outcome of Gul'dan's spell. For long moments they stared silently forward, their minds too paralyzed by shock to process the change in outcome.

That it had gone wrong was clearly evident, but how? A mistake was unlikely. Gul'dan, for all his many shortcomings, was perhaps the most skilled mortal warlock to ever live. Moreover, Khadgar had sensed during the last moments of the duel that Gul'dan had transferred a significant degree of magical energy to someone else. Assuming it was Kil'jaden as Gul'dan spoke of during the duel, the likelihood of error was even smaller, for other than the titans the Eredar lord was the most potent spellcaster in all of existence.

Which left another possibility: sabotage. But who could be powerful enough to subvert the deceiver? Only two culprits sprang to mind and Khadgar dismissed them both easily. The Old Gods were either dead or imprisoned, while the Titans were destroyed by the Legion long ago, a fact kept secret from the general populace. Doubtlessly there were other forces in the universe that Khadgar was unaware of but the idea one of those forces could upset the lord of the legion was…troubling, to say the least.

Khadgar walked towards the portal, eager to probe its secrets, only to be held back by Maeiv. The Watcher, though no mage, had spent a lifetime tracking the worst sorcerers across the scope of Azeroth- and beyond. She recognized tainted magic when she saw it and warned the archmage against going through the portal. The mage initially disregarded her warnings, confident in his own abilities and reasoning aloud that he had already been in this sort of situation twice before. Before he could enter the Warden reached out to grab his arm.

Khadgar whipped around, an argument on his lips and an incantation if that failed. It was for naught, as Maeiv disarmed him with a single sentence: _"Remember the last time you disregarded the warnings of a Watcher."_ Khadgar's arms went slack as familiar guilt ate at him. Reluctantly, he acceded to Maiev's request. Still, determined to explore the portal, he summoned a dozen arcane elementals and bid them to explore the other side. Though even that elicited words of caution from Maeiv, she conceded it was a far better option than simply barging through.

After the elementals had been assigned their task, the two left the Tomb and parted ways. Despite Khadgar's arguments, Maeiv still feared that the Legion had used this incident at the portal as a distraction to launch an assault on her Vaults, which contained hundreds of high profile Legion prisoners. In particular, Maeiv feared that the Legion sought the Kaldorei Illidan Stormrage, for in her mind the so-called Betrayer must number among the greatest of Sargeras' servants.

The archmage, meanwhile, had to make his report to the Council of Six at Dalaran and from there, they could weigh next steps. Likely, the council would opt to set up a small research team whereupon they could probe the portal with their own magical safeguards. Khadgar knew that his bold, some would say reckless, methods had ruffled many feathers among the Kirin Tor and hopefully, his caution here would assuage some of those who increasingly feared that his methods were too radical.

However, Khadgar would not be part of that monitoring team. Though he would demand updates, the archmage had his own methods for tracking Gul'Dan. While his orcish rival may have been whisked away by forces unknown, Khadgar knew with instinctive certainty that his rival was not dead. No, not until Khadgar beheld the warlock's shattered corpse and held the skull of Gul'dan in his right hand would the archmage be assured to the villain's demise. The latter would also be useful for…research purposes.

For as a momentous occasion as the connection of worlds was, it drew little attention in the Other World.

From behind veils of reality, scheming gods manipulated strings of sinew and wisps of dreams to their own purposes, myopic, as it were, to the minute blip in the northern reaches of Norsca. Across the seas, the loremasters of the glittering isles and the jungle-kings of the Slann paid little note, initially, to the strange burst of northern magic, focused as they were to counteracting the greater schemes of Chaos. A few, innately curious individuals, like Teclis of the White Tower and the Hag Sorceress Morathi, noticed that the burst of northern magic was different from any other they had seen. However, though each vowed to explore the mystery in time neither could afford to now, caught as they were in the preparations for yet another internecine war between their two halves of the same race.

Only Be'lakor the Dark Master, instigator of the event, watched intently from his hidden domain. Originally, he had deemed his rebel agent a spy for Tzeentch and feared the god would active the waygate. Now, however, Be'lakor began to wonder if that assumption was incorrect.

If a man were to look upon the gate, he would see an almost unfathomable structure of clearly alien design, which reeked of, on the instinctual level, magic. If a Dwarf was to gaze upon the gate, he could speak of the materials used in its construction (most of them, anyway) while an Elf could see, fully, the flows of magic in the device's design. Compared to Be'lakor's own sight, these were but the musings of the blind.

Through his gaze, he could see a mixture of magic and technology welded into fantastical archaoetech that made all the works of the Asur and Dawi seem like primitive scrapings of mud in comparison. Daemonsight pierced through the illusion of time, presenting past history and woven illustrations of possible futures in the same breath as the presentation of 'present time'. The Daemon Prince watched, in slight if reluctant awe, as the god-like architects of the device cobbled it together using methods not even the daemon fully understood, out of materials both native to this worthless rock and from across the cosmos, some even across other realities.

The tapestry of history unwound into strands of fate, each offering a different potential outcome. Across hundreds of planes he could see armies of men, beasts, daemons and stranger things marching through the portal to battle unseen foes. In most of the visions the daemons were recognizable however in some they appeared distinctly unfamiliar, burning in perpetual hellfire and bleeding bubbling green liquid that tainted the earth.

Still, in a few other visions, armies marched _from_ the portal, rather than into. Mortal races, some familiar and some not at all, marched outwards in tabards of blood or water, clashing with the damned and setting up strange fortifications in the godlands. They wielded magics unknown to the daemon prince and, surprisingly, unrelated to the sea of souls. Strange creatures all, Be'lakor's daemonsight saw through the fleshy veils to the souls underneath. To those the Dark Master was familiar with – the Elves, Dwarfs and humans- the daemon prince saw not the innate soul-taint that so dominated the inhabitants of this world. No extreme pride to the point of narcissism, no stubborn minded backwardness, even the traits that made a man so delectable to the gods was toned down. However, spots existed, gestating seeds that could grow to rotted fruit with the right cultivator.

Faith left imprints on mortal souls, as their worship provided fuel for Aethyric beings. Be'lakor's keen eyes could see none- wait…. A vast shadow hung over them, all of them, a yet to be formed colossus of such gargantuan size that Be'lakor thought, at first, he was gazing upon one of the Four. In each mortal, existed the tiniest fragment of this colossus's given power, unnoticed and unknown to its recipients. What burned brighter and clearer, however, was the connection to the physical elements of creation that the strangers embodied in different patches. In some were swirling maelstroms of the primal elements-earth, wind, fire and water- while others held the raw fury of nature. Others possessed a certain violet aura, the decay of death, the green magic he had seen related to the daemons of hellfire, a light that burned with such intensity Be'lakor had to avert his gaze and, finally-

The Daemon stopped, his gaze drawn to the last. And, in that moment, he understood that a new player had entered the mist, another puppet master that had sought to maneuver the fates of two worlds. For the last group of mortals wielded the exact same strange and void-like magic that his rebellious servant had utilized.

The Shadow.

How the shadow had come to this world, Be'lakor's own decayed den, was beyond him. It was slowly dawning on the daemon however that maybe the acts of his errant disciple were not conducted without direction that perhaps a connection existed between the shadows of this world and his own. Though Be'lakor would not admit this to even himself, it was unnerving for the one who long called himself 'the Shadowlord' that perhaps other monsters lurked within his chosen domain.

Be'lakor stared at the portal, weighing his options silently. Then, his choice was made. This was not the first portal into the unknown he had stepped through; in fact he had been crossing realms since before he rose to immortality. Each opportunity had offered incredible rewards or horrific failures at each measure. The prospect of the second did not take away the allure of the first, for how much further could one such as he fall?

After all, this was a world without, as far as Be'lakor could tell, the presence of the Chaos gods and, more critically, Tzeentch, the spiteful Changer of Ways responsible for so many of the Shadowlord's misfortunes. At least for now.

Binding as much of the Winds of Magic to himself as possible Be'lakor stepped forward through the gate, his mind fixated on visions of conquest and glory.

Alas, Be'lakor was wrong. Such was his curse, a deep abiding thing that had followed him since the beginning of time. Yet this was not one of the God-given ones, for no creature of divinity had given Be'lakor his legendary arrogance and habitual miscalculation of those he deemed enemies. No, this malediction was all his own.

Be'lakor was wrong…regarding the knowledge of Tzeentch. The most hated of the Chaos Gods- in the mind of the daemon prince- was indeed aware of the new development. Perhaps he was always aware, having used unseen strings to manipulate the daemon prince and even the shadowed ones to his bidding. Perhaps he orchestrated the event, the bridging of worlds; perhaps he stumbled upon it and saw an opportunity, for magic was his realm and surely a ritual as powerful as realm merging would have drawn in his eye while in the act? Perhaps he was not aware till now, for despite his illusions of independence the so-called Shadowlord- a purveyor of calamity and change in equal measure- had ever been a servant of the Master of Fate, at least in part, for all gods had once poured their power into the first of the daemon princes.

All of this was true. None of this was true. Both of the previous sentences were true, for this was the warp, a realm where corporal contradictions existed alongside living lies and substantial truths.

Possibilities must be spoken of here rather than certainties, for what is a certainty to a god of hope and chance?

As a mortal would see it, it seems that Tzeentch indeed had been aware since at least the ritual itself. Indeed, Tzeentch would later claim that without him the ritual could never have been completing and though he is known as the "God of Lies" (a name invented by Be'lakor himself in fact!) it is entirely probable the claim had a ring of truth. After all, how could a lowly servant of the Void hope to wrestle control of the nascent portal from the most powerful of Eredar Lords without aid?

Gul'Dan, confused and temporary bereft of his stunned patron, was seized by a force beyond his power and cast into the wilderness of Mallus, a pawn transferred over to a new master's board as wondrous avian eyes studied new possibilities from the orc's corrupted form with unfathomable glee. What other god than Tzeentch would have such an interest in the creature?

In the warp causality did not necessarily exist- but in the physical realm it did. A god was nigh-omnipotent in his own realm, but in the physical realm still had dominance…at least, depending on how powerful the gusts of the winds of magic are. Gods could only really intervene in areas of the highest concentration of the warp and even that was difficult. To intervene in an area that was still in the thrall of reality (even if such a thing was often tenuous in northern Norsca) was incredibly difficult and to affect a portion of reality completely outside of the warp's existent influence, which had never been touched by the aethyr and only for a fleeting moment existed on the periphery of it….that was truly a god-like effort.

Yet, in that snap effort, the laws of reality hit back, momentarily affecting a key rule within the realms of the gods.

In the aethyr itself, the domains of Tzeentch shrunk to their smallest size in aeons- if time could be measured in the Warp. At all fronts, infinite in number, the minions of Change were in retreat as the forces of blood, pestilence, and decadence, along with the forces of gods long dead or yet born, advanced onwards jubilantly, as their masters looked on with wary eyes, suspicious of the Changer's tricky.

The minions of the Changer themselves panicked, seeking succor and responsiveness from their god who Tzeentch neither saw nor heard their pleas. Or perhaps he did, but cared not to respond, or responded in a manner that not even his closest servants could divine.

An infinite number of descriptions could describe the Changer's inconstant form yet perhaps the one most fitting for this tale is that of a great weaver, crafting an eternal fabric, only to be presented with new possibilities and new patterns. Like an excited child presented with a new toy, he casts the old aside, ripping out existing threads and leaving unfinished ones to their own devices. In the mortal world, many pawns and servants of Tzeentch would experience a sudden and inexplicable fall, while others would only survive by sewing their own threads.

While little is known of Tzeentch's mannerisms, perhaps the god himself had eyes for none of this, fixated with what his brother Slaanesh might call lust on the new world. And, if that were true, perhaps Tzeentch, the lord of dreams, was responsible for the visions that many a Norscan seer or champion would receive directing them across the icy wasteland to a mysterious new point, with the promises of truly enticing rewards.

 _Azeroth…._

Sometimes gut feelings offered a sort of prescience of their own. Before this council, he had felt a sinking feeling in his gut that he could not explain, an inexplicable sentiment of dread.

For Khadgar, the meeting had started well enough. The council had reviewed his conduct and command of the Draenor Incursion or the "Timeline War", as some had started to call it. They had praised his leadership in the assault on the Black Portal, spoke in glowing terms of his intervention in the Battle for Shattarath and read the glistening recommendations from allies both of Draenor and on Azeroth for all the assistance Khadgar provided.

Khadgar was pleased to hear his co-leaders, particularly the fair Modera, speak so highly of his accomplishments. When it was Khadgar's turn to speak he graciously thanked each of them while gently reminding his colleagues of the sacrifice of many brave men and women, on both planets, on both factions (his gaze lingered slightly on Jaina Proudmore here). That said he would not deny his own effort and insisted loudly that his effort was not over, for Gul'dan was still out there and-

He was interrupted here, but not by Archmage Proudmore, who he had expected to (Proudmore never did agree to his working with the Horde) but rather Archmage Modera, who Khadgar had always had a soft spot for. Khadgar graciously yielded the floor- a decision he would come to regret.

Gently, for Modera had long considered Khadgar her friend (and vice-versa) , she suggested that perhaps the stress of managing a campaign for so long on a dangerous world had put too much pressure on him at once and that now that Azeroth was under no immediate danger (a naïve assumption, to Khadgar) perhaps he should consider taking a bit of a vacation. Such was no slight against Khadgar's command nor abilities, Modera insisted, for few commanders in Azerothian history could have achieved what Khadgar had…and they would still rest between campaigns.

Slowly, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, Khadgar thanked Modera for her concern but reiterated the need to catch Gul'dan for the orc was no doubt plotting to bring the Legion to this world! Moreover, the Legion's masters were still out-

He was interrupted, this time by Jaina, who dropped a proverbial bombshell, announcing that the Kirin Tor had received the mission reports of Cordana forwarded by Maeiv Shadowsong. Khadgar blanched (a bit too visibly) before muttering reluctantly about Cordana and Maeiv's tendency to 'over-dramatize' incidents. Gently again, Modera added that they had interviewed others about the reports and much of the information was collaborated by their accounts. This had been summarized in an official Kirin Tor report, she added, and then slammed a clearly several hundred page long report down for good measure.

Stuttering, Khadgar could barely defend himself as an onslaught of accusations, all backed by magical images, fragments of time, a spell taught to the Kirin Tor by the Bronze Dragonflight. With each word, multiple images appeared in the air by command, further adding to the difficulty of his defense.

" _ **Recklessly risking lives, including your own"**_

The words, echoed by Jaina, caused images to appear in the air. Most prominently, the image of a Khadgar bleeding out from Garona's blades came to the fore, an incident the council was no doubt aware of for only Lady Proudmore's intervention, in the end, had saved Khadgar's life. But other images swirled

" _This magic is extremely reliable and - maybe a tiny bit fatal. Hold still, I said_!" As Khadgar flooded one of Azeroth's mightiest champions with the raw, elemental magics of Draenor. The image shifted, to a vision of the Archmage frantically trying to revive his companion with a pair of Goblin Jumper Cables

 _ **Reckless use of corruptive magics**_

These words, spoken by Archmage Karlain, caused the vision to shift to gentle Shadowsong Valley, where Khadgar enslaved a daemon and then forced it to spy on its former masters. It switched visions of him dabbling in the volatile elemental magics of Draenor, into shadow magic and, even, the fel when Khadgar used the Orb of Dominion to free Garona's mind. The scene halted on that showing Khadgar tossing the orb of domination, an active fel weapon, to Cordana Felsong right before leaving to go on an extended mission

Fighting back sorrow at the last vision, Khadgar blankly stated that he only ever considered such things when absolutely necessary and had not used fel magic since to which Karlain followed up with a gentle ask of how Khadgar tracked down Gul'dan across the stars. Not wanting to speak of his dabbling in blood and soul magic (which the ungenerous might unfairly call 'quasi-necromancy'), Khadgar remained silent.

 _ **Use of Torture**_

The words, spoken by Archmage Archmage Ansirem Runeweaver, summoned up a vision of Khadgar's relentless assault on Garona's mind in his desperate attempt to both free her from Gul'dan's mind control and acquire information. The relentless psychic assault nearly broke her entirely before Cordana, growing increasingly concerned by the acts, stopped him.

 _ **Obsession**_

The single word, spoken by Archmage Vargoth (or his astral image, for Vargoth never seemed to actually _be there_ ) brought up a vision of many sleepless nights pouring over old tomes for magical hints on how to stop first the Iron Horde and then, when it became clear the threat of Grommash's Horde had been overestimated, the Burning Legion itself. It showed snippets of Khadgar traveling all across Draenor, visibly panting, dragging along a fatigued Cordana to learn mere fragments of ancient lore.

 _ **Nonsensical Orders and…personality difficulties**_

The words, spoken by Archmage Modera, brought multitudes of scenes up. In one, Khadgar asked champions to 'arm themselves' with the physical arm of Blackhand, simply so he could marvel at how creepy it was. In others, he sent adventurers to acquire oddly specific numbers of various items while loudly insisting that his own 'math' was flawless.

"This is a fortified high-security bastion. Only a fool would go into there without an army. I mean... good luck, Champion" After Khadgar had ordered the champion to assault said Bastion, bereft of any support save that of his fellow adventurers.

An adventurer handed Khadgar a clearly powerful magical pearl, shimmering with arcane energy. The archmage looked a bit bewildered. "I don't know what you expect ME to do with this. Here "Khadgar patted the adventurer on the head before taking the artifact. "You did a good job!"

"Woah there my elemental friend. You are on Fire right now, please don't get all "fired" up my friend."

"Commander, we have some missing Frostwolves, potentially captured by Ogres. Or, as I like to call them' 'WHERE-WOLVES….. Go find them, please."

"Greeting, Exarch, I have a joke for you. What do you call tonight's sacred Auchenai celebration? 'The Light of the Dead'."

A frustrated adventurer "Frankly, I think his puns should be labeled a war crime!"

By now Khadgar was sputtering, bombarded by embarrassments from the past and unable to effectively defend against either the exaggerations or the truths. He rebelled against the unfairness of it all, for who had done more to achieve victory than him, yet was too flustered to vocalize these objections at the moment. His mind, however, was focused on one specific thing. He turned to Jaina,

"I get that you disapprove of some of my methods but is this …PUNishment really necessary?"

It was the wrong thing to say and there were many groans all around.

The meeting continued with more accusations until the others gently and compassionately (for Khadgar was indeed beloved among the council; even among those he frequently disagreed with, like Jaina) forced the Archmage to agree to some 'psychological evaluations'. For the time being, another mage, another Archmage, would take over the expedition to the nascent portal, to study it from afar before determining whether it could be safely crossed over.

This collective decision would have many implications to come.

 _"Of all the races of man, the gods favor we Norse alone."_

Words spoken, boastfully, from millions of Norse throats across the centuries, this quote was, like all things Norse, an exaggeration at best and a lie at worse. In response to such a claim a Kurgan or Hung would stamp their feet and claim, truthfully, that they both lived closer to the realm of the gods and, among the 'scholars' of these peoples, claim that for every Norscan that bore a god's gift, three-four of their own kind bore the same. The worshippers of the South, meanwhile, could not deny that less of their ilk favored the true gods than the North, clinging as they did to the weak gods of man for protection.

Yet, they would claim, that the men of the South, when they did join, rose to greater heights and with greater ease than the Norse with hundreds of examples to their name. Kurt Sutvenwulf, Aekold Helbrass, Van Horstmann, Festus Leechlord or, as was widely claimed, the soon-to-be Everchosen, Archaon. The far east had no shortage of aspirants such as the daemon sorcerer Sheerian, the bloodthirsty prince Lu Wu, The Broken Ronin and Raktaress, avataress of violence.

However, for all their half-truths, the Norscans could rightly boast that they alone, as a people, served the gods in more places than any other Chaos grouping (except the beastkin, but northmen didn't usually count them)and fought all of their mortal foes. This was absolute truth for Norscan raids against the Empire, Kislev, Brettonia, the Southern Realms, even far off Araby and Ulthuan were well known. They skirmished with the Dwarfs in the upper World's Edge Mountains, battled the lizard-folk in the steamy jungles around their Lustrian colony Skeggi, and sometimes battled through Brettonia to reach the forest of Athel Loren itself. There were even tales, impossible stories of far-off raids into the nations of the Far East, though how the Norse were able to pull this off by the ocean - bypassing multiple Asur and human blockades and innumerable ocean perils- was unknown.

In the past the gods had guided their prophets to new lands via dream- now, the same process was being repeated, only to a new world. Already visions abounded in the dreams of many tribes of the eagle, foretelling of pristine, unspoiled lands- waves of lush fields tended by peaceful humanoid inhabitants. A weak land, in other words, ripe for the spoiling.

Of course, this depiction was nowhere near accurate for the area surrounding the portal. However, since when had such accuracy bothered the so-called "Father of Lies" -or his followers? The scions of Tzeentch knew well the fickleness of their patron, the very representation of an uncertain fate, and were accustomed to such deception...or at least the wiser of them were. However, every twist of the present, every call to destiny, offered an opportunity to rise in favor.

Too, it is unknown if the god himself could properly scry on the inhabitants of Azeroth just yet. For the first time to mortal knowledge the Chaos God had encountered a realm entirely bereft of his kind's influence...at least, as of yet. The souls of those of Azeroth did not go to the Realm of Souls upon death, the magic of Azeroth did not originate from Chaos and the touch of the Warp had only begun to slide its tentacles into the immediate area of the portal.

Largest of the tribes to head towards the portal were the Sarl, under the command of their Jarl King Viglundir harkened to the dreams of his patron, and dispatched a substantial expedition in the thousands to the new land.

As the Norscans meandered towards the portal, moving with greater and greater pace as the intrigue of Tzeentch drew their shamen into ever greater fever dreams, the Kirin Tor expedition had arrived at the Tomb of Sargeras. Originally intended to be led by Archmage Khadgar himself, the command had been re-assigned by the orders of the rest of the Council of Six, much to Khadgar's dismay.

Instead, the expedition was led by Sir. Warren Holmes "Arclock", a noted veteran of over twenty years with a distinguished service record extending throughout that time. As an apprentice to Archmage Antonidas he had dueled with orc warlocks during the Second War and, as an adept, helped organize the chaotic evacuation of Dalaran during the Scourge/Legion invasion of the Third War. When Dalaran teleported itself to Northrend to engage the Lich King and Malygos, Lord of the blue dragonflight, Arclock had fought bravely against both threats, taking grievous arcane wounds during the Siege of Dalaran by Malygos.

It was there the archmage earned his name for, at the height of the siege, the terrible blue dragon-captain Malcharza had attempted to siphon the magics of one of Dalaran's mighty towers to unleash further destruction onto the city. In a desperate attempt to prevent this, Warren had drained the arcane magic from a small horde of arcane elemental to unleash a powerful spear of arcane energy that impaled the mighty dragon through her maddened heart. The move, reminiscent of a warlock draining magic from his daemons in order to fuel a powerful fel spell, earned Arclock his name, much to the archmage's consternation.

Later, he served bravely in the Isle of Thunder against the Thunder King and his terracotta horde and, later still, Arclock helped Lady Baihu stop the Genasaur Yahu from spreading his Primal infestation to Azeroth. He was a storied champion among the Kirin Tor, if a little new to a leadership position. The Broken Shore expedition would be his first major undertaking and, if he succeeded the possibility was great that he could be the next in line on the Dalaran council.

However, the resources of the Kirin Tor were, at the moment, stretched thin across multiple continents and worlds. Bases for the Kirin Tor existed across Draenor, Pandaria, Northrend and the magical city's former location in the Eastern Kingdoms. Other, more eager Kirin Tor excavator teams scoured the Thunder King's Island and Draenor for magical artifacts and hints of spellcraft from the ancient Gorian Empire, the latter considered an urgent priority as soon the Bronze Dragonflight would cut the tenuous strand of dimensional connection that held their planets together.

The council of Dalaran recognized the untapped potential of the Realmgate, particularly one to a world entirely unrecognizable to the magus of the Kirin Tor. However, in addition to the concerns over manpower constraints, there was another issue governing their interaction with the realmway.

During the Draenor campaign, the Kirin Tor had taken great interest in the so-called Primals, beings of furious and elemental nature that had once dominated that planet. Such creatures were as wild and as powerful as the elementals on Azeroth and showed an awesome potential for manipulating other biological life. Sensing this potential, eager to learn on principle and perhaps viewing this as a useful weapon against the Burning Legion one day, Lady Baihu had led an expeditionary force of Kirin Tor magi into the Everbloom, a major hive of Primal activity. She had taken every precaution known to the magus of the Tor, using magical constraints designed to imprison life to allow for safe study. Inhibitors were put in place to neutralize the effects of the mind-controlling spores as best as possible.

Unfortunately, life was full of surprises and the Kirin Tor couldn't predict every possibility. The Primals escaped and wreaked great havoc across the expedition. Worse Baihu, in a moment of arrogance, had set up and stabilized a portal to Stormwind to allow fast and efficient resupply to her expedition. The Primals had found this gateway and poured through. Only a desperate assault led by Baihu herself, aided by many of the Alliance's greatest champions, foiled the genasaur Yalnu from spreading the Primals and their deadly spores to the Alliance's mightiest city. Had they not been stopped, at the very least Stormwind would have lost thousands of citizens to put the plague down; at worst the human kingdom may have fallen.

Furious, King Varian Wrynn had decried Dalaran's recklessness and nearly caused a major diplomatic row. As a result of this incident, the cities of the Alliance- and even the Horde, once they found out- were a great deal more reluctant to have such portals to Dalaran in their city, believing the Kirin Tor magi would use such connections recklessly. If the Alliance/Horde were to learn about Realmgate, there would be a great wariness among the two mightiest factions and potentially, demands for shared control of the gates, or even premature closure. Either case would be a disaster, given how often the Alliance and Horde came to bickering and blows.

Sometimes fractious, the council of six was united in the belief that the Everbloom incident had been a fluke, a one-off incident brought upon by the recklessness of the commander in charge (who had been demoted). The Kirin Tor had achieved miracles over the last decade and had never fallen to a Legion attempt to corrupt their magic or abilities en masse. Moreover, the secrets of this new world might indeed contain secrets that would be useful against the Burning Legion's vast army, for, alone of the mortal factions of Azeroth, the Kirin Tor knew just how large the Legion really was...well, with the notable exception of Velen's Draenei of course.

The Kirin Tor would proceed cautiously, deliberately, but proceed they would nonetheless.

However, they would not proceed unnoticed. From both sides of the portal, aethyric eyes peered with unbridled curiosity and greed at the mortals that tinkered excitedly with devices designed by gods. Though the Kirin Tor moved cautiously by their own standards, these standards were unfathomably reckless by that of humanity on the Other Side. Whereas humanity of the second world, the world that would later be called 'Mallus', would have quarantined or sought the aid of the Asur to shut down the portal, these humans sought, greedily, to mine its secrets.

Hidden amongst the shadows of the island, Be'lakor plotted to make use of these intruders to his own end; however, his own scheming would be akin to the aspirations of a child when compared to the Weaver of Fate.

For the Lord of Magic, peering from afar, it was a vision of delight, a scene that evoked the same feelings in the god as a gluttonous mortal would upon catching sight of a delicious buffet. They used magic that was...different, something apart from the god-realm that was supposed to cover all. Tzeentch desired nothing less than to bend, break and then mold the magics of these new humans to his will.

Yet, though the magic of the warp had started to seep into the new world ("Azeroth' he remembered it being called), it was not nearly enough to sustain the children of the aethyr. At best, even with the god pouring his magic into them, they would be sustained only briefly, not long enough to do any damage but perhaps long enough to frighten the humans into caution.

Even as the warp god mused possibilities, another warp entity watched silently in the shadows of the tomb. He already had a measure of these new humans. The daemon Be'lakor had already been in Azeroth for days by the time Kirin Tor expedition had arrived, exploring the island but never daring to move beyond it. An unexpected handicap had presented itself, one that the daemon chided himself for not paying attention to.

Be'lakor was a creature of the Aethyr; a monster of the insubstantial. Though the daemon prided himself on being better the mightiest of daemonkind, he was still as bound to the Realm of Souls as much as anyone else. He could journey for weeks across the warp-parched lands of the middling earth before needing to return to the aethyr yet, even there, there were at least some winds of magic to draw upon to sustain himself.

Not here. Past the immediate island, the world was bereft of it, bereft of any sustenance of his kind. Even on the island, the nourishing soul-essence of the god-realm was scant, as rare as a fertile seed in the Arabyean desert. The magics of Azeroth provided no such sustenance as of yet and the daemon doubted they ever would, even if he learned how to wield them. Such magics were, mostly, the magics of the physical realm whereas those of his realm nourished the soul and the body.

He would have to go beyond the island soon that much was certain. Unless he could find an alternate source of aethyr, though, he would be a camel in the middle of the desert, entirely reliant on his own reserves. Unless one of these humans could help him….

Yes, the Kirin Tor opened up possibilities. From their claims, their pasts, they were servants of the flying city, a magical hub for this world. Such a location would provide the daemon prince with a great deal of power, of this Be'lakor had no doubt….

 _1 week later_

Guided by ever feverish dreams and omnipresent omens, the Sarl traveled quickly to the envisioned location- almost supernaturally so. Even the most normally skeptical man (which were rare in Norscan society) had to admit that the gods seemingly really _were_ smiling upon this expedition. The weather had been fair as far as Norsca went, and they had not run into the various myriad of dangers so prevalent in Northern Norsca.

Once, another tribe had attempted to ambush them. Comprised of bloodthirsty servants of Khorne determined to slay the 'weak' minions of Tchar, the other Norscans had ambushed the Sarl in a narrow valley from both sides. However, as the enemy ran down the mountainside to attack their movement caused a rockslide on both sides of the valley. Lost to bloodlust, most hadn't even noticed as the rocks came crashing down among them, brutally burying them beneath the rubble. Miraculously, the rocks came to a sudden halt just before hitting the Sarl's forces. In awe of the clear indication of divine favor, the expedition leader Wargulf sacrificed the survivors to Tchar and then resumed march at double pace.

At last, they crawled over one, final mountain to peer over its edges to the secrets beyond. There, in the clearing beyond, stood a crack in reality, a shimmering vortex through which an indeterminate land and distorted shapes moved and mixed with each other. The seers, however, saw none of this, for their fatigued minds were given new life by the sheer surge of magical energy that they could feel all around them: Tchar _**was here**_. In tones of utter fervency, they declared to the animated crowd of Norscans that their god was watching and demanded that portal for his own. Left unspoken, but understood by all, was the prospect of great reward to the ones who claimed it.

All present understood what that meant; god gifts, alterations of flesh and mind, magical artifacts of great power and, perhaps, even the greatest gift a god could give a mortal: Daemonhood. The crowd practically charged towards the gate, each desperate to be the first enter the new realm and thus the first to claim Tchar's favor. Only the seers behind walked, for they were wise enough to understand that the Eagle god almost always favored masters, rather than the pawns.

Meanwhile, the Kirin Tor expedition was in the midst of frenzied excitement of their own, for good and for ill. Archmage Arclock struggled to manage it all.

Quickly it became apparent that the Tomb of Sargeras was a very poor location for a base of operations. Though the Kirin Tor had cleansed it of daemons and naga long ago, the ghosts of the fallen still lingered here and, though little seen, they haunted the living with a terrible, oppressive aura. There was something else about the tomb, too, a presence, different from the others, but no less malevolent. Arclock had difficulty describing it.

It was clear, too, that the tomb remained dangerous. Three times the Archmage had caught some of his men- mostly adepts and apprentices, but once a full-fledged mage who should have really known better- wandering off and each time they had returned shaken and haunted, though none could properly explain why. One nearly didn't come back at all; Stephen Riverson, an apprentice of Archmage's Arcantium's class. After hours of waiting for him to return, Arclock was about to organize a search party when the boy returned, though more sullen and withdrawn then Arcantium had seen him. The boy had not been the same since….

After that incident, Arclock had banned independent exploration among all apprentices and adepts and declared that regular magi had to be accompanied in groups. Such escapades could wait, for the Archmage was positive he had uncovered an amazing discovery to present the Kirin Tor.

In a world where inter-dimensional invasions and interplanetary incursions had become an unfortunate habitual occurrence, it had become hard to overly excite the magi of the Kirin Tor and Arlock in particular. In the past thirty years the venerable Archmage had witnessed invasions from another planet within this universe (the Old Horde), invasions from other dimensions that existed within this universe but were segregated from the main entity (Firelands, Shadowlands, the Emerald Nightmare), time travel assaults from the past, present and future (Infinite Dragonflight), dimensions that existed outside of time and space (Twisting Nether) and then, combining it all, a interstellar invasion from another universe that crisscrossed both time and space, taking place in a timeline thirty-five years before Azeroth's own….

Arclock got exasperated just thinking about all the crazy happenings his planet had to put up with. In fact, it made his head hurt. It was like some mad deity had deliberately created a series of nearly statically impossible events to keep the denizens of Azeroth on their toes, to ensure that the war never ended. That is why Arclock had difficulty in being too surprised by his findings, for such was the new norm on Azeroth, but they did excite him with the implications.

This wasn't Draenor or Outland, two different manifestations of the same physical and metaphysical laws that bound the Azeroth. As far as Arclock could tell, the magic of the arcane did not exist on the other world…or, if it did, it was not prevalent in their sample size. But a magic of sorts did exist, of that they were certain. As arcane helpers went through the portal to collect samples (for safety was not yet certain on the other side of the portal just yet) they had returned with objects that seemed laden with something that made the senses sting, yet, initially, defied physical observation. One of them- a rock that was turned over to the geologist Archmage Trank for study- seemed to glow a bright green

Fortunately here, as in many things, the gnomes had an answer. The mage-engineer Trish Whizzlegadget had brought along a series of goggles that she claimed could be used to view the various forms of magic on Azeroth and, indeed, they had proven themselves here. However, therein rose a problem with Arclock's study. All magical reports required careful observation, study, and repetition. Unfortunately, though all agreed that a form of magic existed on the Other World, none could agree on its description.

To some, including Arclock, the magic appeared akin to visible wind or visible current, receding and stretching almost randomly, possessing a multitude of colors that made it akin to a rainbow. Others saw it differently. Trish Whizzlegadget claimed it a series of interlocking plates in the sky, similarly churning in colors, that oddly reminded her of the gears of Gnomergan. The High Elf Alrich Firebringer spoke of a stitched together tapestry of all different shapes and colors.

The most extreme reaction was by the young apprentice Oliver Norton, a troubled youth with a troubled past, who seemed to devolve first into a series of painful moans and then in a series of laughs, screams, and mutterings until Archmage Arcantium finally prized the goggle off of his head. One of the accompanying adventurers, a priest by the name of Fabiano Hayes, had been attending to the boy since but as of yet, the lad had shown little improvement.

The best Hayes could get out of his mutterings was that, when he put the goggles on, he saw an endless sky full of Arakkoan-like creatures, glaring with malevolent and hungry eyes at the boy. Above them all, however, was a more terrifying visage by far, an amorphous colossus that seemed to flicker and change shape every second into countless possibilities, exuding an aura of such insanity and hatred that the poor child's sanity burst like a balloon under pressure.

Soon another worrying problem manifested. Archmage Trant had dived into the study of a glowing rock with characteristic eagerness, spending day and night studying its mysteries. From his excited notes, he claimed that the glowing rock was the solidified substance of the currents of magic that permeated the world beyond- and were starting to around the portal as well. In tones that bordered on mania, he claimed that the rock could be used as a great power source, a catalyst for powerful magical spells, and a means to boost physical and mental prowess.

Increasingly, Archmage Trant rejected opportunities to work with his fellows or allow them to study the rock with him, a trait that was starting to concern, not just the team he worked with, but Arclock as well. Worse, just a day days ago, a loud bang could be heard from Trant's room followed by a scream of pain. When Arclock and several others had barged in, Trant was on the floor trying to hastily recover himself. He claimed, loudly, that he was fine though the burn marks on his arm said otherwise. Arclock had attempted to bring the priest adventurer in only to be angrily rebutted by the other Archmage- a disproportionate response, in Arclock's mind.

Still, rather than risk an incident Arclock had left Trant be, though he would be reporting the incident to the council. That and the fact that the burn wound had seemed to be almost….scaly, in his eyes.

Then, just as Arclock prepared to retire to his tent to write a letter to the Kirin Tor, excited shouts stole from the portal stole his attention; something was coming through!

AN: Finally, the first contact has been made...sort of. I have about 14,000 words left on the first contact sequence, so you can probably guess that the Norscan-Kirin Tor meeting does not go so well.

I wish to ask all my readers for an opinion. I am in the process of writing multiple codex entries to detail the various armies, concepts and background information that I plan to use in my story, ranging in diversity from the army of the Kirin Tor to the Southlands Beastmen. I am writing to ask how I should proceed with this: Should I write it in the standard of the Mass Effect codex entries, make it Warhammer Fantasy style complete with optional rules for incorporating them into Warhammer, or use my own style for writing army units that I have showcased in my profile? The middle option will be harder but it might be more rewarding for WHF fans.

Anyway, thank you all for the comments! To Answer them individually

Eva-Saiyan Answered this in chat, but it is not Finuval Plain rather a very eastern human nation I intend to feature in the future.

Wom1 Also answered in chat, but the old lore has been...retconned a bit with Warcraft Chronicles. The Titans were defeated early on by Sargeras. I am aware of the three Eredar leaders and Kil'Jaden's thoughts on them can be featured in the other piece.

Madfrog Even losers can move the world! In both their lores, Gul'dan and Be'lakor lose far more than they win, yet the plot moves forward based on their actions.

TheTrueSkull It will be a little while, but I can guarantee you will hear those cries in the story

TheFelRoseOfTerror Well Nyarlathotep, with Warhammer's greatest schemer now fully involved, you have a new Chessmaster to compete against!


	4. Codex: Forces of the Kirin Tor

Good evening, all. Having seen relatively equal votes between the Mass Effect and Warhammer codex styles, I decided to try to the Warhammer one first. These ended up proving a little difficult as I, unfortunately, lack the experience of actually playing the tabletop and had to do a lot of research to try to come up with something I thought would make sense within the system. Moreover, I did not quite make my time limit for this profile and ended up having to leave some portions out, like the full titles of the archmage or heroes or certain units like the Sunreavers, for I have not had time to play through their storylines as though I have characters on both factions, I am admittedly play Alliance more.

I may do a part two, which would include those missing units and heroes like Khadgar and Jaina Proudmoore, later.

In terms of design, I imagine the Kirin Tor would be a relatively high cost army that would function somewhat like what the Tau of 40k are stereotyped as- highly mobile, extremely shooty at mid-range, but lacking in endurance and flopping in melee. They can generally expect to be heavily outnumbered by their foes. Moreover, unlike the Tau, they lack any real form of artillery barring whatever they can bring from their allies.

A Kirin Tor player would be advised to focus on winning early or at least deliver punishing blows to compensate for their late game weakness.

 **Warcraft Arcane Magic Rules**

The magic in the Warcraft universe works very differently from that of the Warhammer universe, for whereas magic from the Warhammer universe comes from one, volatile, source the various magics of Warcraft come from very many. Furthermore, unlike with Warhammer Winds of Magic, which is a wizard using a external pool of magic that must be mustered and utilized (and is also available to the enemy) the Warcraft mages all have internal pools of magic known as 'mana'.

This results in a system thoroughly different from the Warhammer system, with several advantages and disadvantages. As each magi uses their own pool of mana, having an ally run out of magic doesn't necessarily affect another ally. Their magics are more reliable and not subject to miscast rolls. And, of course, there are far more magi on the field in a Azerothian force than a Warhammer one. For that reason, magical attacks from Warcraft units operate mostly under shooting rules, rather than magic rules. However, there are some modifications to be found on Archmage level

Of course, there are disadvantages as well. Most mages are unable to attack more than a single person or a small group at once, in contrast to the multi-rank spells of typical Warhammer magic. They can run out of mana just like Warhammer magic.

To factor this into game I propose a system based on mana storage and power level. The levels are as follows

 **Apprentice :** Essentially novices, with only a couple of months of training underneath their belt. They can only use minor spells.

 **Adept :** At this point, the apprentice has mastered much of the basics given to them by their teacher and is well on the way to ascending to full mage hood. They can be considered competent and knowledgeable, if not very tested.

 **Magi :** Tried, Tested and Knowledgeable, the Magi of Dalaran are a feared force across the world

 **Archmage :** At the level of Archmage, the caster is no longer limited to hurting an enemy at a time and can cast powerful spells capable of affecting whole regiments .

 **Legend-** Khadgar and Jaina : Two individuals who rank far above even an archmage and can cast spells that affect entire battlefields with the ease lesser archmages affect entire regiments.

To determine how many turns a Kirin Tor unit can function before having to recharge their mana dice, roll a D6 and then add a +1 for each corresponding level (up to a +3 for a Magi). You will get different mana pools for this- that is fine and in lore some can cast longer than others. It depends on their physical stamina, magical aptitude, the strength of the spells they are casting etc. It is possible for you to get a apprentice squad capable of fighting longer than a Invoker Squad.

Example :  
School of Apprentices :2 (rolled) +1= 3

Adepts : 3+2=5

Kirin Tor Invoker Squad: 1+3=4

 **Archmages and special characters** all get individual roles, rather than units. As they are capable of powerful magic that can affect whole regiments, their system is a little bit different. To determine, roll 4 D6 dice and then add an additional four to the final result. Do this for every Archmage.

Arcane magic offensive spells are primarily divvied up into three categories : Frost, Fire and Arcane. With the exception of the most powerful archmages, every mage will use one specialization and only one specialization (even if, lorewise, they might know one or two from another branch).

 **Frost Spells**

 **Frost spells** are ice-based attacks that are designed to cause hypothermia, penetration wounds via icicles and generally slow the enemy down. Thus all Frost spells reduce enemy movement and initiative by 1. Once again, these basic spells can be divided into attacks by power level, with additional rules to be found based on level

It is possible for a mage of higher power to use lower level spells to conserve energy (or, as a sign their mana reserves are famished).

 **Apprentice** : In this category the apprentice can use fairly basic spells like summoning arrow sized shards of icicles and bolts of hypothermia inducing frost. During the shooting phase they reduce overall enemy unit's mobility by 1, as frost-bitten foes struggle to move while those in formation try to maintain it.

 **Adept:** Those Ice spells become stronger still and they now possess some defense. . They have automatic Ward 5 saves, courtesy of their Ice armor. Melee strikes in close range against the mage applies frost, which lessens the enemy's initiative next turn In addition, the movement penalty for fleet of foot foes (those above 5) becomes a -2.

 **Magi:** At this level, the strikes become more powerful, as those arrow sized icicles become spears and bolts of frost become colder still. They now strike with Strength 4, rather than 3. Also at this level the magi have options available that allow them to speed up their attacks and fire better while on the move, thus giving them the extra attacks rule.

 **Archmage**

 **-Walking on Ice:** Freezes over a given terrain, including water. All movement over said terrain is halved and the terrain itself is treated as dangerous. Uses a 3'

- **Glacier Spike** : The Archmage summons a massive icicle the size of a ballista bolt! This is then launched at the enemy line, where it is factored in like a ballista shot. 4'

 **-Ice Wall:** Summons a giant Ice Wall in front of the enemy regiment. This wall provides cover to the enemy unit from Kirin Tor attacks but severely inhibits their movement, as they are forced to go around it. Uses 5'.

 **-Winds of Winter:** The Ice Archmage summons a chilly gale force wind that can be used to force enemy flyers to the ground. This doesn't apply to the whole battlefield and must be targeted on a specific unit.

- **Blizzard** : The Archmage summons hundreds of ice shards above the enemy regiment before dropping them down in a rain of spears. Can be used on a small round template for 9 points, or a large for 13.

- **Comet Storm:** Summons a number of boulder sized comets over the enemy, which crash and split apart in deadly shrapnel upon hitting the enemy. Used on a small round template for 10 points

 **Ice Mages and Water Elementals** : In game, every single Ice Mage, down to the apprentice, can utilize a Water Elemental however, lorewise, not all choose to summon them. To reflect this I am making it so Water Elementals are not automatically included with Ice Mages in this list however, for every unit of Ice Magic users a unit of water elementals is, correspondingly, one half off (so if Water Elementals were 10 points normally and there were 5 units of Ice Mages in the army, you could choose 5 Water Elementals for 25 points total).

 **Fire Magic**

Just like in Warhammer, all Fire Spells use the flaming attacks rule (duh!) and in World of Warcraft the main advantage of Fire Magic is referred to as 'crit-trains' whereupon every attack has a chance to deal double its damage. To reflect this in, starting at the level of adept every time a unit of Fire mages attacks, roll a D6. If the required number is reached, add a +1 to the strength of their attack.

 **-Apprentice** : Apprentices fire basketball sized fireballs , short ranged bursts akin to a flamethrower and sometimes can condense their magic into something akin to a boulder.

 **-Adept** : Like their frozen colleagues, at this level adepts have Ward 5 saves from their flaming armor. In addition, this armor deals a level strength 3 hit to melee combatants. If the adept unit rolls a 6 on their die, add + 1 strength hit.

 **-Magi:** Strikes are powerful enough to register as S4 hits and due to methods employed the Magi also get a 'extra attack' rule. If the magi unit rolls a 5 or a 6 on their die, add + 1 hit to their next attack.

 **Archmage**

Keeping with the tradition above, if the archmage rolls a 4-6 on their die, add a +1 strength to their next attack.

-Fire Boulder: Summons a massive fiery boulder that is then launched at the enemy, functioning like a catapult attack.

-Ignite: When cast on a enemy unit, this spell automatically makes them more susceptible to fire attacks. Thus every fire attack launched on the enemy unit next turn, including from apprentices, automatically adds +1 strength from the critical hit

-Fire Wall: Similar to the Ice Mage spell, though unlike the frost spell enemies can technically go through the fire wall- though they suffer a S4 hit in doing so.

- **Fire Bomb:** The magi places an explosive bomb, magically, in the target's chest. At the end of the caster's turn, the bomb explodes outward, dealing a S6 hit to the main target and S4 to all units within a distance of 3'. Requires 6 in the mana reserve

- **Meteor Storm:** Summons a series of small, fiery meteors onto the enemy ranks. Can be used on a small round template for 9 points, or a large for 13.

- **Cinderstorm:** Short ranged attack cast with a range of 8'. Conjures six giant cinders that magically travel through enemy lines in 6 different points. Resolve as six bolt thrower strikes with flaming attacks rules.

 **Arcane Magic**

 **Arcane Magic** is the stuff of creation. Technically, all magic seen here is arcane, for the mages of the Kirin Tor utilize it to control the elements. However, this section refers to using raw, unfiltered arcane energy as an attack. This form of primal magic is said to cause vaporization, to a degree, and for that reason I am giving it the trait 'armor-piercing'.

 **Apprentice** : Apprentice Arcane wizards can fire great bolts of pure arcane energy or even a barrage of them.

 **Adept:** Like their colleagues, adept mages have Ward 5 saves from their Arcane armor. In addition, they also have a level 1 magic resistance.

 **Magi:** An Arcane Magi has their spell strength improved to S4 spells, like the rest. The difference between the arcane and the other lores is that the Arcane mage is a master at storing and restoring magic. Thus, their points cost per round is merely two, instead of three. Moreover, when they run out of their mana pool, they can instantly reclaim 50% of it. So if a Kirin Tor Invoker squad attacks for four turns before running out, they can attack for another two without having to replenish.

 **Archmage**

The Archmage has all the rules of the above and, in addition, can cast the following spells

- **Invisibility:** At a cost of 3', the Arcane Wizard can turn himself invisible. The enemy cannot target the wizard next turn, selectively, but he can target the Wizard's general area (though this is extremely imprecise, and essentially gives the wizard a +4 Ward Save). At a cost of 9', the wizard can turn every ally in 12' invisible. This invisibility will fade if the affected are struck or they strike, though if the player chooses to attack, the invisible due so with double the initiative.

- **Alter Time** : Can be cast on allied character within 12', this spell will rewind time once said character is dead, restoring the character to life. Costs 5'

- **Polymorph** : Can be cast on any enemy character within 12'. Upon cast, roll a LD test on the enemy character. If the LD fails then he is turned into a sheep for one turn, unable to attack, with all stats reduced to one. Costs 5'

- **Time Warp** : All Allies within 12' of the Archmage gain the Extra Attacks for the next turn . If they already have the extra attacks rule then give them _extra_ extra attacks! Which translates into giving them another A score. Costs 8'

- **Nether Tempest** : Select an enemy target model. The Enemy unit instantly receives a single S5 hit as he becomes the conduit for arcane energies. If the enemy model survives, than a barrage of arcane bolts emanates from his form, dealing 3D6 S3 hits to all targets around him in a small template.

- **Mass Teleportation** : Select an allied unit and, at a cost of 10', teleport them anywhere on the battlefield. For an additional 3 (total: 13') the Archmage can attempt to target an enemy unit to do that, but this only works if said unit fails a leadership test.

 **Recharge Rule**

Once a magical unit has expended their mana reserves, they are unable to cast magic. However, if left out of combat they might attempt to recharge their mana via drinking water and eating. This takes a turn of activity to do, but if left alone allows them to restore 25% of their mana pool, to a minimum of 1.

Archmages may also carry potions on them that replenish between 25-50% of their mana pool instantly, depending on how powerful the potion is.

 **Army Special Rules**

 **Vanguard of Azeroth**

For thousands of years the mageocracy of Dalaran has passionately explored the unknown, whether it is new branches of magic or the denizens of space and time. Sometimes this had led to great discovery, other times sorrow and danger. The Kirin Tor were originally created to account for the latter while still maintaining the original drive of discovery by vowing to catalogue and research every spell, artifact, and magic item known to mankind. As a result of this drive, their knowledge is almost unrivaled among the mortal realms of Azeroth. Moreover, as their planet has become threatened by increasingly cosmic threats, the Kirin Tor has stepped up to lead the many nations of their planet through these troubled times.

The Kirin Tor are usually first on the scene to confront new threats, whether that is the Iron Horde invasion, the second Scourge War or the Third Legion. Courtesy of their frequent study and contact of the terrible denizens of beyond, they can lower the enemy's fear value. Thus "Causes Terror" translates into "Causes Fear" and "Causes Fear" has no negative effects.

 **Magical Arsenal**

Dalaran Stands at the forefront of magical advancement and their city is considered the capital of such arts. The magi of the Kirin Tor bring this focus to war as well and, as a result, virtually every weapon they bring to the fold counts as magically enchanted. In game terms, they can strike ethereal foes with impunity.

 **Teleport & Portal Rules**

The most significant 'weapon' the Kirin Tor bring to any Warhammer competition is their mastery of portals and teleportation. On the base level, the common spell ' **blink'** allows any Kirin Tor mage unit to add a +1 to their movement roles. So long as the mage has mana the player may choose to channel open a portal to Dalaran. During this turn, the mage can neither defend, move or attack as they must constantly struggle to hold the portal open. At the start of your next turn, roll two D6 dice.

0-4: No one comes, the troops are not mustered in time

4-6: A Squad of Kirin Tor Defenders rushes through the portal, ready to defend their magi charges

7-8: A squad of apprentices jump between realms, eager to prove themselves to the Archmages!

9-10: The mage soldiers of the Kirin Tor, the Invokers, exit the portal primed and charged to fight.

11: A squad of elite Guardian Mages, experts in martial and magical matters, steps forth to lend their aid.

12: Attracted by glory and loot, between 1-3 Adventurers join the fray! To determine how many, see the various 'Armies of Legionfall'

Perhaps most significantly, the most powerful Archmages of the Kirin Tor can choose to portal or teleport their armies directly around the battlefield. Essentially, any unit you select may have vanguard rule and be deployed accordingly.

 **Azerothian Armies**

Prior to the last thirty years of ceaseless conflict, the lands of Azeroth lived in relative peace, their various nations not known to wage sustained conflict with one , through the natives of Azeroth are very personally experienced, their cultures have not evolved in the manner of Warhammer or, indeed, real world militaries have. They use a combination of conventional and unconventional warfare, falling onto neither side exactly. This results in several advantages and disadvantages.

Disadvantages

1\. Limited Formations :To start with the disadvantages, they are rather infamous at their lack of formation fighting. They know the basics, but not advanced tactics. Thus they cannot benefit from any formation other than Skirmisher and the default.

2\. Limited Individual Faction selection: While Warhammer armies are built to be complete, Azerothian armies are built to be parts of a greater whole. As a result the individual army lists of Azeroth (Kirin Tor, Nightborne) are missing some options in certain fields, like war machines.

3\. Limited Population: Lorewise, Warcraft numbers are typically less than Warhammer's and, to reflect this, their point cost is slightly higher.

Advantages

1\. Champion Emphasis : The recent annals of Azeroth have emphasized heroes, and it is heroes that have risen from the world's murky depths to save it. Not only are Azeroth heroes just as powerful as those of Mallus, but they are more common, meaning they cost less point wise.

2\. Higher State of Alliance : Unless otherwise stated, all Warcraft Alliances are considered Trusted Alliances and have the supreme commander rule found in the Grand Alliances section. Azerothian armies can freely make use of troops and champions from each other's armies with relative impunity (for example: Jaina can command Draenei Vindicators from her fellow Alliance nation of Exodar). This is, obviously, does not apply to the rare alliances of Horde and Alliance. Those have their own unique

3\. Loose Rules: Azeroth abstains from the orderly standards of Warhammer and their unique technological and magical development have given them . The Azerothian commander can spend up to 50% of their point allotment for any of the following – War machines, Heroes, Lords and special units. They still need to spend 25% on core units but other than that, there are no limitations (so a person can have 25% infantry, 50% champions and 25% war machine).

 **Wands:** While many Kirin Tor use staffs as a means to minutely enhance their own power, others utilize short ranged wands as weapons. These wands unleash small magical projectiles of arcane, frost or fire magic at foes within short range, though these projectiles are comparatively weak. However, they are a means in which a magically drained magi can still fight. Thus, in game terms, the Wand counts as a S3 weapon with a 12' range. Counts as a magical weapon.

 **Kirin Tor Defenders**

In a city so often associated with magic, it is a little known fact that the city, nevertheless, possesses a non-magical population that is no less motivated by patriotism and duty than their arcane rulers. These non-magical residents are called upon to serve the grueling but necessary melee work of foot men, for the studies of the Kirin Tor leave little time for most mages to learn sword-play.

Standing tall in steel chasis and armed with a large steel kite shield, the Defenders are entrusted to hold the line against all sorts of foes whether it is the ranged fire of a Burning Legion Eredar cadre or the frenzied assaults of the ghouls of the Undead Scourge. In contrast to their human kin in the other nations, the defenders are not expected to win melee confrontations necessarily rather they are expected to hold them off, allowing the magical might of the Kirin Tor to finish the battle. For that reason, the footmen of Stormwind and other human nations occasionally gibe the defenders as glorified bodyguards more than soldiers.

Among the Defenders, the Violet Hold Guardsmen are entrusted to hold the worse prisoners the Kirin Tor has ever faced such as San'Layen Vampires, the daemonic lieutenants of Sargeras, twisted creatures of the Void and horrible monstrosities of the Undead. Though breakouts are rare, the Violet Hold is prepared for them and given stronger than average weapons and defensive capabilities. The Violet Hold does sometimes appear on the battlefield as well, if their presence is requested- generally if the Kirin Tor are fighting a foe of particular magical ability. Sometimes the Violet Hold guard leave the battle with a prisoner in tow, taking them back to the Hold for imprisonment and study.

Magical Weapons, First to combat

Defender M4, W3, B3, S3, T3, W1, I3, A1, LD7

Captain M4, W4, B3, S3, T3, W1, I3 A1, LD8

Violet Hold M4, W3, B3, S3, T3, W1, I3 A1, LD8

Magical Weapons, First to combat

Special Rules:

-Enchanted Armor: In preparation of a particularly dire battle, the Kirin Tor will further enchant the armor of their defenders . This translates into a +5 Ward Save

-Arsenal of the Violet Hold: The Violet Hold require more powerful weapons than are normally given out. Their enchanted blades confer a Strength 4 hit, rather than Strength 3.

-Look Out Sir: When a Defender is within 2' of a mage who is under attack, roll a d6. On all rolls 2 or above the Defender tries to defend the magi and thus the blow is resolved against the Defenders score (Credit to Iohannes for this idea).

 **Kirin Tor Apprentices/Adepts**

Young, overeager, and sometimes a little reckless, bright-eyes apprentices come by the tens of thousands to seek out the instructors of the Kirin Tor- whether in the city itself or abroad- to achieve magical instruction and learning . Oftentimes the sheer number of apprentices exceeds available mages for one-on-one training, and instead great classes, even schools, are formed to provide them the instruction needed. Typically the average mage apprentice is a human or gnome, however other races- including Elves- have been known to crop up in training classes.

Under any normal circumstances and times, the Kirin Tor would be loath to send their apprentices into direct combat. However, these are not normal times and the magi of the Kirin Tor are forced to contend with so many threats- from different dimensions and timelines even!- that they must reluctantly make use of the services of their large numbers of apprentices. Generally the Kirin Tor try to force them into non-combat roles however, the necessity of life in Azeroth (combined with the apprentices' own eagerness for glory) often forces them onto the front lines.

A step above apprentices, adepts are those apprentices who have nearly completed their studies and as such are given a great deal more independence than their teachers. Typically, adepts will supervise other apprentices however there are certainly instances where whole groups of adepts gather to complete an assignment. Adepts possess the same passion- some would say over eagerness- as apprentices, heightened by the knowledge that they are mere steps away from becoming a full-fledged mage.

Apprentice: M4, W2, B3, S3, T3, W1, I3 A1, LD6

Adept: M4, W2, B4, S3, T3, W1, I3 A1, LD7

Blink, Apprentice (Fire, Ice or Arcane)

Protected: Though often accused of recklessness, the Kirin Tor do take great pains to protect their apprentices. They are never placed in the front lines nor would any Kirin Tor commander dare use them as fodder (they would be locked up in the Violet Hold if they did).

If any enemy unit were to wipe out a school of apprentices, the Kirin Tor would gain hatred against that unit for the rest of the game.

Adapt Only-Adept level magic

 **Kirin Tor Invokers**

The Invokers are the true line infantry of the Kirin Tor, the standard soldiers of the flying city. Wielding fire, ice and arcane the way other armies wield bows and arrows, Kirin Tor Invokers are capable of devastating the enemy in a onslaught of elemental power. Each is a full-fledged magi of Dalaran, having spent months and years to attain such a position.

Academics all, the Invokers spend as much time studying and experimenting as fighting. To that end, they tend to have sometimes have access to experimental spells. One example is Shimmer, which allows twice the movement range as an ordinary blink. The spell 'Controlled Burn" increases the likelihood of an exceptionally powerful fire spell.

Until the last twenty years, the Kirin Tor could expect to spend virtually all their time studying, with only the occasional gnoll raid or bandit hideout to sort out. However times change and the Kirin Tor have expertly adapted to the new world. The Invokers have battled the servants of Malygos, outfired the gunners of the Iron Horde and held the line against the legions of the Scourge.

Invoker: M4, W3, B4, S3, T3, W1, I3 A1, LD7

Invoker Captain: M4, W3, B4, S3, T3, W1, I3 A2, LD8

Magi Level (Arcane, Frost or Fire) , Blink,

Experimental Spells

Shimmer- Through folding time and space, the Invoker can teleport twice as far as a regular teleport spell. Arcane Only

Dense Ice- The power of Frost armor is increased, conferring a Ward 4 save, though only against physical attacks and projectiles. Frost Only

Controlled Burn: By increasing the potential for a powerful spell, the mage can add a +1 to the chance they score an increased Strength hit.

 **Kirin Tor Guardian Magi**

Master of magic and blade both, to be a guardian is to be among the very elite of the Kirin Tor. It was the guardians who accompanied Jaina as she stormed the palace of the Thunder King, who aided Khadgar in his taking of Hellfire Citadel and who led dozens of boarding efforts to disable the dreaded Legion space battleships. Such is the confidence they inspire in others, that when the daemon planet Argus appeared above Azeroth's skies the presence of the Guardians aided greatly in calming the panicked crowds.

The Kirin Tor Guardians are a bit of an oddity among the Kirin Tor. While most mages choose to wear cloth armor-for the loose fitting material doesn't inhibit casting, the Guardians are trained to use plate armor. Such materials are magically enchanted to drastically reduce their weight, giving them nearly as much maneuverability as their robed brethren. In addition to their armor, their swords have been enhanced with potent arcane energies and as a result their strength has greatly increased.

Riding on magical flying disks that they can control with their feet, the disk riders of Dalaran are not the most conventional airforce, but they do get the job done. It was the disk riders who were counted on to drive off the blue dragons during Malygos' many assaults on the city and it was the disk riders who led the boarding efforts against the various Burning Legion capital ships- ships that had devastated the Alliance and Horde previously. Riding at speeds as fast a gryphon, the Disk riders can use their spells as freely as any ground unit.

G. Magi: M4, W4, B5, S4, T3, W1, I3 A1, LD8

G. Lord M4, W4, B5, S4, T3, W1, I3 A2, LD9

Flying Disc: T4, W4, I1

Magi Level (Arcane, Frost or Fire), Blink, Experimental Spells, Flying (Disc Rider) , Vanguard of Azeroth, Magical Arsenal

Supremely Enchanted Blades: The Blades of the Kirin Tor Guardians are enchanted far beyond the rest of their fellow soldiers, Simmering with arcane energies, these deadly blades can unbind the energy that allows daemons to manifest on the corporal plain, sap the tether of a necromancer to his creation or i9nflict incredible magical feedback to a foe. Thus these weapons count as having the killing blow rule.

 **Water Elementals**

It is not known when or even from whom the Kirin Tor learned how to manipulate and control the elementals spirits of the world. The Quel'dorei, they who had provided instruction to the first Dalaran magi, had no shamanistic tradition and the ancient texts on the subject mention the High Elves reacting with hostility and simmering rage when questions about the magic of nature was broached. One speculative account suggests that in the innumerable troll-human conflicts the shaman of the Armani and other hostile tribes employed numerous elemental to bolster their own ranks, forcing quick thinking magi to adapt.

Other accounts speak of an accidental summon by a would-be warlock leading to a successful binding (which the prospective warlock traded for a lighter sentence at court) or a charismatic mage who managed to convince a sea-witch described as half-serpent to teach some of her craft.

From these obscure origins, the use of water elementals has become standard and sometimes even necessary component of frost school of magic. Though a frost mage can 'summon' water or ice out of thin air, it requires more magical focus and attention than manipulating an existent environmental source. By siphoning off even the slightest amount of water from their water elemental servants, a frost mage can more easily sustain his or her magics even as the water elemental continues to add their own contribution. Water elementals, as embodiment of one of the four fundamental forces of nature, can constantly replenish themselves from ambient sources of water, minimizing the risk of the mage siphoning the elemental into dissolution.

Typically, water elementals attack via jets of concentrated water, unleashed at such pressure as to bruise, knock off balance, or even break bones at closer ranges. Others can spray their jets of water over the ground, which the elemental then manipulates to freeze, slowing the enemy down. A few Archmages have elementals of greater power that unleash far more powerful jets of water and stand as tall as an ogre.

While most mages only deign to summon a single elemental, if any, there is a select order among the Kirin Tor that specialize in the summoning and binding of great groups of them together that are unleashed in a oceanic . The mental discipline of such a summoner stands well above most of their peers and even the lowest summoner is said to be a magi of great skill.

Though not nearly as common as a water elemental, arcane elementals do exist and are sometimes summoned onto the battlefield alongside

Elemental M4, W3, B3, S3, T3, W2, I3 A1, LD10

Greater Elemental : M4, W3, B3, S4, T3, W2, I3 A1, LD10

Summoner: M4, W3, B5, S3, T3, W2, I3 A1, LD8

Master Summoner: M4, W3, B6, S3, T3, W2, I3 A2, LD9

Large Target(Greater Elemental) , Adept (Frost or Arcane), Magi (Frost or Arcane- Greater Elemental Only) , Immune to Psychology, Magical Arsenal

Bracers: Water Elementals are bound to the mortal plain by magical bracers, and are notoriously resistant to strikes against their center mass. Count as a +4 Ward Save at Range and a +5 in melee quarters.

Discount: Magi Bound: Factor in the elementals last. At the end of the unit selection process, for every frost wizard on the field above an apprentice you may select an accompanying water elemental for half cost. Without Frost Mages or Summoners, this option cannot be taken

Summoners: Magi Level (Frost or Arcane), Archmage-Frost or Arcane (Archmage)

-Master Controller: For every summoner on the field, you may select 10 elementals free of charge. For every master summoner, you may select 20.

-Depleted Charges: If a Summoner's charges are depleted, s/he may attempt to summon more. During this turn he or she may not move as they channel the energies needed to do so. Presuming he or she is successful (i.e. not being taken out by your opponent on their next turn), roll a D6 die at the beginning of your next turn. The number you roll is the number of water elementals summoned.

-Only Summoners can bring Arcane Elementals

 **Arcane Guardians**

The Arcane Guardians are originally an invention of the High Elves and were deemed so successful that other magical armies have adopted them en masse. Standing between twelve and twenty feet tall and weighing several tons, it is hard not to see why mages favor this device. It is the brute strength to their brain, a pummeling behemoth that can physically punch through entire ranks of enemy footmen. . With such force they could tear enemy targets in two or hurl foes bodily through the air.

One Arcane Guardian is terrifying enough but a dozen is enough to make the ground physically quake. Half-mechanical and half-elemental, arcane guardians fit in neither category perfectly . They are capable of intelligence, basic reasoning and even understand verbal commands, though they are not as free-thinking as a full artificial intelligence.

As with everything in their arsenal, the Kirin Tor (and other groups) like to experiment. Some arcane constructs have been modified by their owners. Some arcane golems are capable of using bursts of arcane energy at range, create small arcane explosions around their person, magnetically pull enemy in, conduct electricity to use in melee or even create small arcane energy fields around themselves that provide brief combat protection.

Arcane Guardian M5, W4, B3, S5, T4, W4, I3 A4, LD10

Arcane Guardian-Giant M5, W4, B3, S6, T5, W4, I3 A4, LD10

Large Target, Fear, Immune to Psychology, Magical Arsenal

Magical Wards: Built from enchanted stone and further boosted by potent wards, this creature has a +2 magic resistance and +3 armor save.

Mana Burst: A few such constructs are given the ability to unleash short ranged bursts of arcane energy capable of glassing the flesh of enemy combatants. Resolve this strike as a omni-directional strength 3 breath weapon.

Arcane Launcher: Equipped with the ability to shoot bursts of arcane magic at long ranges, this 18' weapon strikes with the force of a nominal Magi strike.

 **Silver Covenant Rangers**

The Silver Covenant is one of the last organized, viable High Elves left since the destruction of Quel'thalas several years ago. Centered on the figure of Vereesa Windrunner, sister of Sylvannas and Alleria, the Silver Covenant is the militarized core of the remaining High Elves. It's violently opposed to the Blood Elves and their inclusion into Dalaran society and when Jaina initiated the Purge they were the first to lend their strength to drive them out of the city.

Vereesa has modeled the Silver Covenant into almost a government in exile, and her Silver Covenant possesses its own archmages, magi guard, arcane guardians and the like. However, it is the rangers of the Silver Covenant that bring the most attention. Wielding magical bows and bringing potentially hundreds of years of experience of forest warfare with them, the Silver Covenant are masters of ambush and guerilla warfare.

It is a common boast among the Covenant to claim that they can shoot out a dragon's eye at over 100 meters. This claim has been proven in the Nexus War, where quite a few times the Silver Covenant managed just that. Indeed, they have proven this boast many times in the annals of their people, dating back to the Troll Wars over 3,000 years ago. Amazingly, a rare few among their number claim to have fought in even that Great War!

Ranger M5, W4, B4, S3, T3, W1, I5 A1, LD8

Ranger Captain: M5, W4, B5, S3, T3, W1, I5 A1, LD8

Scouts, Skirmishers, Magical Arsenal, Always strikes first, Enchanted Armor

Alliance Partisan: Can only be taken by neutral, Alliance aligned or Alliance factions . If the Alliance player is paired with a Horde one, they count as distrusted allies.

Last Gasp of a Dying Race: The High Elves seen within the Silver Covenant are among the last of their race and fight like they have the entire weight of history on their shoulders. Thus they have higher than average leadership, can reroll panic tests and hate the Horde and Undead.

 **The Tirisguarde**

The Tirisgarde is the elite mage-guard of Dalaran, an organization called upon in the past by the Council of Tirisfal to do battle in the absence of the Guardian. They have helped keep the world safe from demons for hundreds of years and are considered so skilled, that the apprentices of this order are said to equal masters of lesser mage groups. Such is prestige behind this group that even archmages with years or even decades of training must prove themselves like common apprentices.

Lacking a guardian, the Tirisguarde are given some of the most powerful weapons in Azeroth's history. Items that include tomes that contain words of power to invoke supernatural fear within daemon kind, sigils that drastically amplify the user's intelligence, silken cloth enchanted to be tougher than steel and much, much more. It is thanks, in part, to the Tirisguarde that over ten thousand years separated the first Burning Legion invasion from the second.

Tirisguarde M4, W4, B4, S3, T3, W1, I4 A3, LD8

Magi Level (Arcane, Frost or Fire), Blink, Experimental Spells, Magical Arsenal, Vanguard of Azeroth,

Demonbane: The Tirisguarde are the organization which has fought the demons of the Burning Legion longer than any other on Azeroth. As a result, they can generally be considered immune to demonic terror/fear affects, can re-roll failed strikes against demonic foes and gain hatred against them.

 **Blue Dragon**

Once, the Blue Dragons were stalwart enemies of Dalaran. Indeed, the last Blue Dragon aspect before Kalec made a serious, concentrated effort to the destroy the flying city, believing it to be the very embodiment of the sins of mortal magic. Great aqua drakes clashed across the sky with flying saucer riders, while great wyrmkin wrested with arcane golems in the streets below. Malygos nearly came as close as the Scourge to toppling the city however in the end his underestimation of mortal resolve proved his downfall.

Under the new aspect of magic, Kalec, relations between blue dragons and Dalaran thawed . The blue dragons began to work with Dalaran, providing knowledge to the magi in return for finding a new place in the world, for they had spent much of the preceding ten millennia under the tyranny of Malygos's alternating insanity and apathy. Eventually, Kalec became a trusted confidant of the ruling council and, later, a member.

It is still rare for a Blue Dragon to fight on a mortal's behalf, even with their aspect on the council. In part this is due to the rarity of the blue dragonflight itself, for in truth the breed had never recovered from Deathwing's ambush in the War of the Ancients, and the recent wars have only further lowered their numbers. Yet, when they do appear, they add both their incredible physical prowess and their arcane masters to the battle, each of them a match for any archmage in that arena.

Drake M6, W4, B4, S3, T4, W3, I3 A3, LD7

Dragon M6, W5, B5, S5, T5, W4, I4 A4, LD8

Wyrm M6, W5, B5, S6, T6, W5, I3 A5, LD8

Rules: Dragon Fire, Large Target, Terror, Scaly Skin (+3), Magi Level magic (Drake), Archmage (Dragon or Wyrm)

Blue Dragonflight Breath: Unlike typicaly Dragonflights, Blue Dragons can breathe breath weapons of arcane energy, which can then be molded into ice or fire. Combine the typical 'Dragon's breath" rules with those special rules for arcane, frost or fire. A Blue Dragon counts as 'multi-lore' and may switch between any of the three.

Masters of Magic: Many Blue Dragons have been practicing magic for millennia and can boast a magical aptitude that equals, if not surpasses, the might of any mortal. As a result, all Blue Dragons and Blue Dragon Wyrms automatically receive the trait "multi-lore" and "loremaster" respectively.

 **Archmage**

The Archmagi are among some of the most powerful spellcasters on all of Azeroth, the pinnacle of their class. While in truth the word "Archmage" is just a title- it owes as much meaning as its holder gives it- in practice, the word has increasingly taken on a term of power. Gone are the days where a archmage could achieve his status through learning alone. With their world in constant threat, archmages are expected to actively contribute to their defense.

Archmages have mastered the arts of magic to a prodigious degree. Under their guide, supernatural blizzards have frozen ships at sea immobile, fire storms have devastated enemy armies and entire bases have been cloaked or even removed from the material plane entirely. They are capable of using their magic to devastate entire armies, a task that they have been called upon many times to do.

Ever on the lookout for more magical lore, the Archmagi of Dalaran have rapidly attained the magical aclumen of their enemies and allies. From Draenor, they learned much about the Ogre waygate and have worked to improve their portals as a result. From the bronze dragonflight, they have attained knowledge of chronomancy- the manipulation of time. They can speed up the attacks of allies, achieving two times the spell output in the same amount of time. They can freeze enemies, briefly, in time and even rewind it to a limited extent, allowing themselves or a valued ally to escape danger.

Archmage M5, W4, B5, S3, T3, W1, I4 A4, LD8

Archmage Lord M5, W4, B6, S3, T3, W1, I4 A5, LD9

 **Magical Support**

The mages of the Kirin Tor are, even by the standards of Azeroth, an extremely overspecialized force. They are extremely ill-suited for pitched battles or for siege warfare, lacking the stamina nor the heavy weaponry to perform either. However, they are a strike force beyond compare, using both their legendary arsenal and magical firepower to inflict mass destruction in as short amount of time as possible. To maximize such a strategy, the following specialists are known to accompany the Kirin Tor in their missions:

Alchemists use herbs to create strange, magical brews that heal, empower, and produce a variety of positive effects - invisibility, elemental resistance, mana restoration, and much, much more. They can also transmute mystic materials into rare and exotic new forms. By creating rare materials, Alchemists can make a great deal of money, enable the creation of powerful weapons and armor, and even influence the economy of Azeroth! Each and every alchemist the Kirin Tor employs doubles as a mage.

Engineers take advantage of their inventiveness to create an immense (and occasionally random) variety of helpful items. By tinkering ceaselessly, and tolerating malfunctions and misfires, an engineer can make utterly unique objects: sight-enhancing goggles, potent guns, robot pets, mechanical mounts, and even more unusual trinkets. Successful engineers use their inventions to solve problems and make life easier, faster, and better for themselves and their companions. Historically, the nation of Dalaran have mtanined cordial ties with the Gnomergan Technocracy, who share the Kirin Tor's love of discovery and tinkering. Thus the majority of Kirin Tor mage-engineers would be of Gnomsih origins.

Alchemist M4, W2, B3, S3, T3, W1, I3 A1, LD8

Mage Engineer M4, W2, B3, S3, T3, W1, I3 A1, LD8

Magi Level (Arcane, Frost or Fire), Magical Arsenal, Vanguard of Azeroth

Alchemists can take up to two potions for free (see magical items and artifacts) and acquire four more cheap. These can be split up amongst all special characters in the Kirin Tor Force

Engineers can acquire

Archmage Traits

- **Portal Master :** A noted practitioner of transmutation arts, able to open portals between continents with ease. In game the Archmage is capable of opening a portal without needing to stabilize it, meaning he can attack normally. The portal stays open as long as the Archmage is alive.

 **-Frostheart:** A master of Ice Magic, capable of freezing an entire ship convoy together. Amplify the power of this Archmage's frost attacks- i.e. a blizzard used by a archmage with this trait is automatically assumed to use the large round template at the nominal cost of the small one.

 **-The Shephard:** A specialist in altering human form into Polymorph can be used as a mass targeting spell. Take an enemy unit's leadership and divide it in half. Then roil a D6 for every model in the enemy regiment. For every dice roll that supersedes that divided number, turn the enemy model into a harmless sheep for one turn. Must be an arcane or multi-lore archmage.

 **-Weaver of Time :** After earning the trust of the Bronze Dragonflight, this Archmage has been entrusted with some of the arcane secrets of that group. All Arcane time spells (Time Warp, Alter time) cost less and the Archmage also has a automatic +4 Ward Save. Must be an arcane or multi-lore archmage.

 **-Multi-Lore:** This Archmage has learned how to utilize multiple lores and brings this knowledge to inflict eclectic death upon the battlefield. Essentially, you can choose any six spell you want for this Archmage.

 **-Loremaster** : An upgrade of the Multi-lore trait, this wizard has, either through natural talent or incredible study

 **-Phoenix Lord:** The caster in question has become a master of fire. Amplify the power of this Archmage's fire attacks – i.e a firestorm used by a archmage with this trait is automatically assumed to use the large round template at the nominal cost of the small one.

- **Master of the Arcane:** The caster in question has become a master of arcane. Amplify the power of this Archmage's arcane attacks used by a archmage with this trait is automatically assumed to use the large round template at the nominal cost of the small one.

 **Core Units**

 **Kirin Tor Defender**

8 Points per Model

Defender M4, W3, B3, S3, T3, W1, I3, A1, LD7

Captain M4, W4, B3, S3, T3, W1, I3 A1, LD8

Violet Hold M4, W3, B3, S3, T3, W1, I3 A1, LD8

Violet Hol 8

Unit Size: 10+

 **Equipment**

Hand Weapon (Lorewise a sword)

Shield

Plate Armor

 **Special Rules**

Violet Hold Arsenal (for Violet Hold Only)

Magical Arsenal

Vanguard of the Kirin Tor

 **Optional Upgrade**

 **The entire unit may take…**

\- Enchanted Armor…. Two Points per Model

\- Crossbows One Point per Model

May Replace Hand Weapon with…

\- Spears One point per model

 **Kirin Tor Apprentices/Adepts**

 **9 Points per model**

LD

Apprentice: M4, W2, B3, S3, T3, W1, I3 A1, LD6

Adept: M4, W2, B4, S3, T3, W1, I3 A1, LD7

Unit Size: 10+

 **Equipment**

-Hand Weapon (Staff or Dagger)

 **Special Rules**

Apprentice( Frost, Fire OR Arcane)

Blink

Protected

Adept (Frost, Fire OR Arcane)

Magical Arsenal

 **Optional Upgrades**

May equip with

\- Wands Free

May upgrade apprentice to adept 4 Points Each

 **Kirin Tor Invoker**

15 points per model

Invoker: M4, W3, B4, S3, T3, W1, I3 A1, LD7

Invoker Captain: M4, W3, B4, S3, T3, W1, I3 A2, LD8

Unit Size: 8+

 **Equipment**

Hand Weapon

Wands

 **Special Rules**

Magi Level (Arcane, Frost or Fire)

Blink

Vanguard of the Kirin Tor

Magical Arsenal

 **Optional Upgrades**

Each model of a given type may be given an experimental spell

\- Shimmer 2 Point per model

\- Controlled Burn 2 Points per model

\- Dense Ice 2 Points per Model

One Model may be upgraded to Captain 10 Points

 **Elementals**

 **12 Points per Model**

Elemental M4, W3, B3, S3, T3, W2, I3 A1, LD10

Greater Elemental : M4, W3, B3, S4, T3, W2, I3 A1, LD10

Summoner: M4, W3, B5, S3, T3, W2, I3 A1, LD8

Master Summoner: M4, W3, B6, S3, T3, W2, I3 A2, LD9

 **Unit Size: Variable, See Special Rules**

 **Equipment**

Hand Weapon

 **Special Rules**

Large Target(Greater Elemental)

Adept (Frost or Arcane)

Magi (Frost or Arcane- Greater Elemental Only)

Immune to Psychology

Magical Arsenal

Bracers

Magi Bound

Arcane Elemental :Summoner Required

 **Optional Upgrades**

May upgrade one out of ten to be a greater elemental 10 points each

 **Special Units**

 **Arcane Guardian**

 **45 per mode LD**

Arcane Guardian M5, W4, B3, S5, T4, W4, I3 A4, LD10

Arcane Guardian-Giant M5, W4, B3, S6, T5, W4, I3 A4, LD10

 **Equipment**

Hand Weapon

Magical Construct (+3 Armor save)

 **Special Rules**

Large Target

Very Large Target (Arcane Giant)

Fear

Immune to Psychology

Magical Arsenal

 **Optional Upgrades**

Can turn one Arcane Guardian into an Arcane Giant 20 Points

Can equip Arcane Guardian with…

Mana Burst 30 Points per model

Arcane Launcher 15 Points per model

 **Silver Covenant Rangers**

15 per model

Ranger M5, W4, B4, S3, T3, W1, I5 A1, LD8

Ranger Captain: M5, W4, B5, S3, T3, W1, I5 A1, LD8

Unit Size: 7

 **Equipment**

Hand Weapon

Longbow

Enchanted Armor

 **Special Rules**

Scouts

Skirmishers

Magical Arsenal

Always strikes first

Alliance Partisan.

Last Gasp of a Dying Race

 **Optional Rules:**

May turn one model into a captain 5 points

 **Rare Units**

 **The Tirisguarde**

 **LD**

Tirisguarde M4, W4, B4, S3, T3, W1, I4 A3, LD8

Unit Size: 5

 **Equipment**

Hand Weapon

Wands

 **Special Rules**

Magi Level (Arcane, Frost or Fire)

Blink

Magical Arsenal

Demonbane

Vangaurd of Azeroth

 **Optional Upgrades**

Each model of a given type may be given an experimental spell

\- Shimmer 2 Point per model

\- Controlled Burn 2 Points per model

\- Dense Ice 2 Points per Model

One Model may be upgraded to Captain 10 Points

May take "Arcane Artifacts" worth up to… 50 points

 **Kirin Tor Guardian Mage**

17 Points per model

LD

G. Magi: M4, W4, B5, S4, T3, W1, I3 A1, LD8

G. Lord M4, W4, B5, S4, T3, W1, I3 A2, LD9

Flying Disc: T4, W4, I1

Unit Size: 5

 **Equipment**

Arcane Anihilation Blades

Plate Armor

Enchanted Armor (See Defender)

 **Special Rules**

 **Magi Level**

 **Blink**

 **Flying (Disc Rider)**

Vanguard of Azeroth

Magical Arsenal

 **Optional Upgrades**

Each model of a given type may be given an experimental spell

\- Shimmer 2 Point per model

\- Controlled Burn 2 Points per model

\- Dense Ice 2 Points per Model

One Model may be upgraded to Gaurdian Lord 10 Points

\- The Guardian Lord may take a magical item equaling 25 Points

 **Blue Dragon**

Blue Dragon Drake 30 Points

Blue Dragon 250 points

Blue Dragon Wyrm 300 points

Drake M6, W4, B4, S3, T4, W3, I3 A3, LD7

Dragon M6, W5, B5, S5, T5, W4, I4 A4, LD8

Wyrm M6, W5, B5, S6, T6, W5, I3 A5, LD8

 **Special Rules**

Monster

Blue Dragonflight Breath

Magi (Drake)

Archmage( other variants)

Scaly Skin (+3)

Fly

Large Target

Vanguard of Azeroth

Magical Arsenal

Masters of Magic

 **Optional Upgrades**

May give Blue Dragons magical items 50 points

May give Blue Dragon Wyrms magical items 75 Points

May take an additional three Archmage Traits 15 Points each

 **Heroes & Lords**

Magical Support

50 points for each

Alchemist M4, W2, B3, S3, T3, W1, I3 A1, LD8

Mage Engineer M4, W2, B3, S3, T3, W1, I3 A1, LD8

Equipment

Hand Weapon

Wands

Special Rules

Vanguard of Azeorth

Magical Arsenal

Magi (Frost, Fire or Arcane

Optional Rules

Alchemist only

\- May take up to two portions Free

\- May take an additional four potions 10 Points per potion

 **AN:** And that's a wrap! Though I suspect this profile is flawed, I hope it added some interesting ideas to the equation. My next such codex update will be indeed Mass Effect style and it will start to cover the gods and historical background of Ind, a land that Games Workshop, of course, tries to base of India. Though Kingdoms of Ind* won't be meeting Azeroth for a long, long time I want to start building their background lore and the lore of a major character that I hope to develop.

Though it will be a while before this codex is released, I am happy with where I am going with it and I think I have three interesting sections planned out:

\- **The Land of 10,00 Gods:** A brief overview of the many gods of Ind, including the Triumvaria

\- **The Blood Tide:** As Chaos receded after the Great Vortex's creation, another horror came to dominate the world : The Naga Blood Empire, a power so dreadful that the mortals of Ind were nearly rendered completely extinct.

\- **The Great Subversion:** Emboldened by his new power and success and believing that salvation could come even for the 100 Beastkin of Ind, Brahmir the Creator conducts a ritual so blasphemous that it would forever earn him the ire of the gods of Chaos and Order alike, a great and terrible event that would permanently alter Ind's history.

Also, I am skipping my usual timeframe. Within a week to a week and a half I will release the full first contact scenario, which currently clocks in to 15,000 words.

Wolpe – Thank you sir!

DIOS de la Nada Agreed and expect to see more of that within the future. Thanks for the review!

Romnr Thank you sir! Hope you enjoy next chapter!

Reality Deviant Thank you and Well ,not a beatdown since both forces live in different dimensions and can't reach each other directly but the Chaos Gods will be forced to contend with malefic schemers with a malevolence to match their own and vice versa. Some goals may be shared, but ultimately the final objectives of both Chaos and Void are opposed.

Worm1 Thank you sir. My next codex update (Ind) will be Mass Effect style …at least for the first part. After that, it will be up to readers for what I continue to do. Also thank you for the correction, will fix tomorrow.

Reed Thank you for the vote my friend, hopefully the WHF style provides some entertainment

Tobi14 Thank you sir. The Everchosen will be a while, but expect four powerhouses to enter the scene soon. A hint: one of them joined forces with the Chaos Dwarfs and Ogres to in his quest to destroy the city of Magnus the Pious.

MadFrog2000 Thank you my good man! And I am liking your theories!


	5. First Contact

**==CONTACT==**

 **Arclock's Expedition**

Forced to fight on multiple fronts and ever observant of the return of the Burning Legion, the Kirin Tor could not afford to send many troops to this expedition. However, the Kirin Tor had fought in every war within the last thirty years and many of those that stood on the battlefield today were skilled veterans possessing experience from dozens of conflicts.

 **Archmage Arclock**

As Archmage Arclock approached his forty-fifth year, he had been increasingly reflecting on his past and questioning whether his best years were truly behind him. Arclock had taken this assignment as a sign that his star could rise further still and commanded it with the same eagerness as Arcantium's young disciples. A renowned master of the Arcane, Arclock had even learned a trick or two from Khadgar in the field of chronomancy.

 **Archmage Trant**

Gifted, focused, prodigy. Those were words Archmage Trant's admirers used to describe him while his detractors would use the words "obsessive" and "unhinged". Regardless, both friend and foe would freely admit Trant's skill for extremely impressive and, at the age of 30, he stood amongst the highest ranks of the Kirin Tor and already hungered to advance further still among the ranks of the Magi city through his discovering in this new world's magic.

Trant was hiding more than just ambition from his fellow mages. An experiment into the warpstone had caused an accident that knocked the archmage too. When he regained consciousness the archmage was intrigued and horrified in equal measure by the sight of his upper arm, which had mutated into something…scaly, like the naga of the depths. This did not dampen Trant's enthusiasm and he hungered for an opportunity to test his theory that the glow stone could be used to manipulate the magic of the Other World.

 **Summoner Wildsong**

The Quel'dorei mage Alana Wildsong had once tried her hand in ice magic before, in a brutal test of her powers, she found a greater calling. To the surprise and even admiration of her Kirin Tor mentors Wildsong managed to control and command no less than five different water elementals, making them salute her teachers in a dramatic flair. Since then, Wildsong has only improved her binding abilities and can now control twenty arcane and water elementals at once.

 **Mage-Engineer Trish Whizzlegadget**

Eccentric and brilliant, the gnome Trish Whizzlegadget had vowed since childhood that she would master both the scientific engineering of her people and the magic of creation. Already, she has come close to achieving both objectives, having been praised by Mekkatorque himself for her engineering and was under consideration by the Dalaran Council of Six for promotion to Archmage.

 **Strike Team Epsilon**

The nation-state of Dalaran prides itself on its magical prowess, on the mastery of the arcane and, through the arcane, the elements. Yet the magi of the flying city are not so arrogant as to think that the skills of more mundane forms of combat-melee- are not useful from time to time. Wielding enchanted swords, trained by Dwarfen blademasters and accomplished in all three branches of arcane magic, the guardian mages of Epsilon stood prepared for whatever threat came across their path.

 **Arcantium's Arcane Symposium**

When the noted arcane archmage Arcantium was invited to partake in the expedition he brought his class of students along with him. Arclock was unaware of the extra additions until Arcantium had arrived and had been furious as a result, claiming the need for secrecy and the possibility of danger. Yet Arcantium refused to back down, believing the expedition to be an invaluable learning experience for his students. A row had ensued that was eventually solved by a compromise- all of Arcantium's students underage would head back to Dalaran, while his older students would remain.

 **Defenders of the Flying City**

Famed for its magical aptitude, Dalaran nevertheless, like most of Azeroth, had substantial populations of non-magical citizenry that, while bereft of arcane knowledge, none of the less sought to serve their city in times of peril. These defenders fought sword and shield in the manner of Alliance footmen, however in a point of difference between the two, their shields, swords and armor were all magically enchanted to be more powerful. They were also joined by a small squad of Invokers, who bombarded the enemy from afar with journeyman magic.

 **Battle Constructs**

After Stephen Riverson's disappearance and scarred return, Arclock had requested the council provide him with arcane golems, powerful constructs notoriously resistant to magic and incredibly physically powerful . They had acquiesced and five of the creations were currently on patrol in the tombs below. Nevertheless Arclock had the ability to recall them to his location if trouble ensued.

 **The Exalted Seekers**

Throughout the last decade the magi of the Kirin Tor had come to appreciate the prowess, discretion, and value of Azeroth's mortal champions. Three of them were included in this expedition, three adventurers who had journeyed across the world and beyond in pursuit of their various objectives. Priest Fabiano Hayes sought to spread the Light to all in need, druidess Kindihin Lunapoem wanted to experience nature in all of the world's far flung places and the Warrior Gneeli Fastdrop sought glory- and to prove that gnomes could excel in the martial arts, if they so choose.

 _ **Archmage Arclock**_

Archmage (Arcane)

 **Archmage Trant**

Archmage (Fire)

 **Summoner Wildsong**

Master Summoner (Frost)

 **Mage-Engineer Trish Whizzlegadget**

Mage(Arcane) and Gnome Engineer equipped with an Experimental Pistol

 _ **Strike Team Epselon**_

Five Guardian Mages

 _ **Arcantium's Arcane Symposium**_

One Archmage, 13 apprentices and four adepts. All Arcane

 _ **Defenders of the Flying City**_

Forty Kirin Tor Defenders, 20 Kirin Tor Invokers(Various)

 _ **Battle Constructs**_

Five Arcane Golems

 _ **Elemental Savants**_

Twenty Water Elementals

 _ **The Exalted Seekers**_

Gnome Warrior (Fury), Human Priest ( Holy), Night Elven Druid (Feral)

Total Combatants : 114

 **The Sarl Incursion**

From the exploits of Omr the serpent slayer and Ulgra Troll-Eater, the Sarl have a proud warrior tradition leading back millennia. Though taken over, in recent times, by an openly Tchar-worshipping king the people of the Sarl were still very much a martial tribe. That suited Jarl Viglundir just fine- the more bodies between him and the enemy, the better!

The Forces below represent only the tip of the invasion, the first to travel to the new world.

 **Olvir Grithsson**

Nearing his half-century mark, Olvir was a legend among the Sarl for his brazen raids across the Old World and even as far down south as Araby. Ever a hardy people where men over thirty were a rarity, Olvir had felt the stirrings of age wear him down. Eager to receive the boon of the gods to prolong his age, Olvir had begun to show greater caution in battles, allowing the impetuous youth the opportunity to test themselves in battle first.

 **Wulfrik, Future Wanderer**

Wulfrik, he who would be known as the 'Wanderer', was, at this time, a hot-blooded adolescent just out of his first few raids. Eager for glory, Wulfrik had already developed a love of seeking out enemy champions to fight and prove the superiority of the North. He had yet to lose one of these duels.

 **Verlki, Seer of the Warping Eye**

For nearly fifty years Verkli had orchestrated the power transitions of the Sarl in honor of his patron Tzeentch…or, so he said. Like most men of Chaos it was self-interest that ruled the day. The Sarl had maneuvered himself to take command of the magical forces of this expedition, expecting great glory based upon the incessant visions of Tzeentch. However, what Verkli did not know is that the new Sarl Jarl Viglundir had allowed for the transition so that he could annex Verkli's power base at home. If he returned, the Sarl seer was in for a nasty surprise….

 **Be'lakor, The First Damned**

Be'lakor, First of the Daemon Princes and master of Chaos Undivied, had not guided the Norscan expedition. Indeed, beneath his façade of flesh the daemon fumed, correctly perceiving that the invasion meant one of the Gods of Chaos were aware of the world portal- and it wasn't hard to guess which one, either. Be'lakor would have vastly preferred that the invasion failed with no survivors but such a feat would no doubt tip off the gods to his existence in this Other World. Instead, the Daemon Prince vowed to analyze from afar and, should the Kirin Tor begin to fail, ensure that there are no survivors to warn the powers that dominate this world….

 **Wolves of the Wintry North**

Lupine monsters made of half-flesh and half ice, formed in the madness of Chaos' eruption upon the world, the wolves of northern Norsca had long preyed upon the tribes that lived there. In times of war the Norscans trained these unruly creatures –as best as such beasts could be trained- and used them to weaken enemy lines and hunt down those that dared flee.

 **Unspeakable Things**

Roped, corralled, and bound by witchcraft, the unspeakable things were those unfortunates who had fallen victim to madness and physical degradation in the service of the gods. They were the Chaos Spawn and even the Norscans fought alongside them with a certain wariness.

 **Hunters of Crows**

As a tribe of the eagle many men of the Sarl had a prolific hatred of Tchar's rival god, who was often represented by the crow. Skilled hunters would apply their trade to specifically hunting down and killing these birds and, eventually, acquired such a skill that they could claim to be the equals of any southern archer.

 **Sarl Sea-Raiders**

By far the most common grouping among the invasion force, these were the marauders and reavers of the old world, brute men who had tested their teeth on the monsters of the North, the elusive Dwarfs of the Norscan mountains , the steel legions of the South and, most of all, each other. Some had traveled and battled farther afield, such as the plate clad knights of Brettonia and even the fey inhabitants of Ulthuan. Though unruly, clad in weapons of iron and wood, their skill in melee could not be denied.

 **Olaf, Giant of Ormfell**

The giant Olaf had long ago taken up residence among the Sarl, who were happy to supply the great brute with immense quantities of alcohol. In return, the Norscans sometimes led him out into sorties, where the sixty foot creature's strength and size could be an invaluable addition.

 **Olvir Grithsson**

Marauder Chieftain

 **Wulfrik, The Future Wanderer**

Marauder Champion

 **Verkli, Seer of the Warping Eye**

Chaos Sorcerer of Tzeentch

 **Be'lakor, The First Damned**

Daemon Prince, Special Character

 **Unspeakable Things**

Chaos Spawn, Numbers unknown

 **Hunters of Crows**

Several Dozen Norscan archers and javeliners, their numbers interspersed with the Sea-Raiders

 **Sarl Sea-Raiders**

Hundreds of Norscan Marauders

 **Olaf, Giant of Ormfell**

One Norscan Giant

 **Total Combatants** : Unknown, but the tip of the force easily numbered in the high hundreds.

* * *

The Archmage- along with all in earshot- hurried to the portal, all previous concerns abandoned by the possibility of first contact. Mentally, Arclock recited the Niven code governing First Contact, a more pessimistic policy than that which had once existed. While the doctrine was hopeful for peace, it had been altered substantially in the wake of invasions across space and time. Now, the doctrine allowed for lethal force if there was even the slightest chance that the aliens meant to do harm.

 _Time has made cynics of us all_ , he thought to himself. Reluctantly, he ordered his men to back away from the portal, far away, to provide a great amount of breathing room in case the intruders turned hostile. Though the magi had removed much of the rubble that once constituted the room that held the portal, it had mostly been pushed to the side , for the Kirin Tor had been incredibly eager to get to that portal. At the time, Arclock resented that laziness and had had his men slowly move it. Now, he was grateful for it, for there was enough debris to limit the maneuverability of any that exited the portal.

* * *

On the other side the bellowing, celebrating horde accelerated their pace, each desperate to be the first to step in the world- and the god favor that would surely follow. The mundane sought to simply outpace themselves faster than the other; the more duplicitous would trip or shove each other out of the way. One fell bloody to the ground, a sword still stuck from between his shoulder.

Pushing and violently shoving others aside, one emerged clear in the lead. The warrior was powerfully built even by the standards of Norsca, his countenance full of unrestrained aggression and supreme pride. With a burst of speed he slammed through the realm way, the shimmering field parting like water before the swimmer. For a moment he was disembodied, a lone soul cast adrift in a vast darkened space. He could feel eyes on him, judging him, sizing him up yet, when the Norscan warrior turned his field of vision he saw nothing.

Then, like a diver returning from a deep dive, the Norscan broke on through the other side. He roared in triumph for his tale was now guaranteed to go down in the annals of the Sarl!

He froze mid-shout, aware that he was not alone. Before him stood dozens of other humans, their stunned faces a mimicry of his own. Smaller, scrawnier and dressed in flamboyant clothes, but humans all the same.

* * *

The surprise of Arclock was equal to the Norseman. His jaw slacked, the orders he was about to give caught in his throat. Humans… here!? This was not an alternate version of Azeroth as far as he could tell, but another universe entirely! Could that mean that the titans, the ultimate creators of that servant race from which humanity evolved from, been here as well? Had they ordered this universe? If so, why? Why did this universe have a different foundation of magic?

All these and a thousand other questions echoed through his mind. His eyes wandered across the Norscan's body and something about it made his skin crawl, though he could not explain why. There was something deeply unnatural about the other man's muscles, something that defied his cognitive understanding but which caused the hair to stand up on the back of his arm.

* * *

Wulfrik's eyes narrowed too as he considered the men before him. He was reasonably sure they were southlanders, though the specific tribe escaped him. He had raided lands from Araby to Kislev and all in between, and the attire on these men matched none of them. Having met the Hung, who he had been told were kin of the men of the Orient, he knew these men did not match their complexion. Moreover, they seemed ...different, in ways that he could not properly explain. Perhaps these were the first of their people the Norscans had ever encountered?

A grin formed; if so, these people would learn to fear the gods' chosen people just as every other weak son of the South had. Though, that still didn't explain how they had gotten here before the Norse. Perhaps a separate portal opened in their lands?

The grin only widened. If so, then these southlanders had left an unlocked gate for the norse to pillage their home. The names of the Sarl expedition- and Wulfrik in particular- would be sung by the bards for generations!

Then Wulfrik's gaze met Arclock and instinctively he recognized the other as the leader. For long moments, the two stared, measuring, analyzing each other. Truths of the soul- the reluctant soldiery of one, the institutionalized bloodlust of the other- were laid bare. Wulfrik's grin widened to an extreme point, a deeply unsettling act that revealed a mouth of sharpened teeth. Almost idly, the warrior fingered the blade of his axe.

Behind Wulfrik, the gateway shimmered violently and from its depths emerged Norscans by the twos and threes and then by the dozens at a time. Each went through the same process as Wulfrik- the howls of triumph, the incredulous glances to the other humans followed by hostile stares.

Then, among them, Olvir Grithsson stepped forth. Clad in the exotic scales of the apes of the Southlands, and the scale of the beasts of the continent across that ocean, Olvir stood with almost regal poise, or at least as close a Norscan could manage. To his credit he alone did not go through the same stages of surprise as his men, the experience of a lifetime of raids giving him a modicum of discipline. He had also fought against even more foes than Wulfrik, like the lizard-folk in Skeggi, the elven fleets on the oceans (both kinds) and even, during an impossible journey, a raid on a coastal port of far-off Nippon. Wulfrik nodded respectfully at his commander, who had earned it during his raids against Far Araby.

* * *

Arclock was getting increasingly nervous. He had seen nothing other than hostility and belligerence in the other man's stare and the flood of strange humans through the warpgate showed no signs of ending. Already, Arclock's forces were outnumbered and the disparity was growing by the second.

Yet the archmage was reluctant to order an attack. Surely, this was not the destiny of diplomatic relations, surely there was more to the other planets and realms then unreasoning hostility at every first contact? Instead, he ordered his forces to close together in ranks- the defenders out first followed by mages behind. Arclock was no tactician, knew little of formations but he recognized, should the worst (and, the cynical part of him believed, the most likely) potentiality come to pass, his mages would have protection of a sturdy defender while they cast spells. Not all of the expedition had arrived though, some were just now coming in, unaware of the commotion.

* * *

Wulfrik's grin turned predatory at the sight of the southlanders moving into a semblance of a formation, the standard response to their inability to meet Norscans man to man. Looking back at his brothers and sisters in arms he saw they were just as eager as he was, already making lewd or threatening gestures, clanking their blades onto their shields in a cacophony that got blood pumping and hate flowing. Wulfrik felt something ancient, something primal, something inherently part of man's nature scream out in chest, demanding release. The part of Wulfrik that was still man looked to Olvir, for it would be a symbol of monumental disrespect to not give the commander the first kill- or at least not seek his permission first. After that though, all hierarchy would be forgotten in combat.

Olvir glanced at the southlanders, eying them up and down, before turning towards Wulfrik. He gave his own unsettling grin and nodded.

With a ferocious war cry Wulfrik unleashed that primal thing that had paced, anxiously, in his chest. He hurled one of his throwing axes and with a roar, charged. And the servants of the gods followed with him.

* * *

The axe fell short, an outcome Arclock thought should have been obvious to the other man, for nearly 100 meters separated the pair of them. And, if it were up to the Archmage, he aimed to keep it that way.

Before the Norscans had even moved ten meters the Archmage cast his spell. A brilliant, violet translucent sphere three dozen feet in length and twenty feet high appeared between the Other men and the Kirin Tor- a arcane barrier of incredible strength. The Others did not halt their charge in the slightest and crashed into the barrier only to be hurled bodily on their rears as the countervailing force of the arcane shield slammed them backwards. Harsh words, what Arclock guessed were curses, poured furiously from their vile tongues as some hurled blows against the shield while others, smarter ones, sought to seek a way around. They would have succeeded-if Arlock had been the only archmage there.

Arcantium joined in and summoned a second barrier that spanned from the right end of Arclock's own to the column at the far end of the portal area, effectively denying that way out. Those men of the New World jumped on their feet tried for the left, only for a second barrier to manifest, this one formed of fire. Momentarily surprised, Arclock turned to look at the caster and met the smiling face of Archmage Trant, who nodded at him. It seemed like, despite their recent disagreement, Trant would not abandon the Kirin Tor at the hour of their need. Grateful, and a little guilty for composing a message that would have asked for Trant's removal from the project, Arclock turned his attention back to the outworlders before him.

Maddened and furious at the manner in which an outlet for their blood-madness was blocked, the outlanders beat furiously at the arcane barriers (fearing, rightly, to touch the fire), each blow being reverberated back- though non-fatally, for Arclock was not yet prepared to give up the dream of peace.

More of them arrived from the portal, their howls joining with the growls and animalistic shrieks of the others. In greater numbers they ran into the barrier, the failure of their blows only encouraging them to hit with greater fury, greater ferocity. The barriers began to strain as Arclock's attention, divided between repelling so many blows, began to falter, the struggle slowly overwhelming him. Around him the apprentices began trying to shore up the barrier, however they were but novices and their power was yet paltry.

In desperation he called out to the only being here who could potentially stop the violence from occurring: the Priest, Fabiano Hayes.

"Hayes! You alone can communicate with them. Peer into their minds and tell them we mean peace!"

The priest looked bewildered for a moment before figuring out Arclock's intent. A Mind Vision, of course! Such a spell was not normally used for telepathic purposes but if he could modify it, use a variant to learn about the outworlder's past, than perhaps that would form a basis for communication! After all, priests could see into other's mind and even control them; sending visions was not a huge leap.

Eying the red-haired bellowing Northerner, Hayes cast the incantation and, for a moment, his mind melded with the warrior-Wulfrik.

It was enough.

Hayes collapsed on the ground, vomiting up the day's lunch. The visions- he had not seen such foulness outside of daemonkind!

Arclock, his forehead sweating from the sheer strain of maintaining the shield, called out to the priest "Hayes! What did you see? Tell me how to communicate 'peace' in our language!"

"Peace!?' the Priest was incredulous- how could such a thing be possible from what he has seen? "They are beneath peace, Archmage! They are savages who know nothing but violence and violation of all that is noble! Their whole culture worships desecration, rape and murder in a manner no race- not even the orcs or Forsaken- ever have."

Just then, Olvir reached the front and drew from his back a mighty axe, its head glowing a foul green. Hefting it aloft he brought it down, full force, on the barrier. Arcane magic parted like grass before the blade . The barrier shattered with the sound of broken glass and, with it, the last hope for peace.

Then an axe threw through the air, hurled by the outlander who first stepped through the portal. Arclock watched it with contempt, for its wielder had already tried and the laxt axe had fallen far short, for the invaders were not in close enough to reliably hurl such things. Then contempt turned to disbelief, as the axe seemed to resist gravity's pull and hurled through the air with an impossible speed and angle, as if it were being guided by the divine. It soared towards an unwary apprentice, who was bravely attempting to restore the broken arcane barrier. Focused on his spellwork, the young mage did not notice the axe in time. The axe impacted his chest and slammed the apprentice off his feet, the force of it driving the blade through cloth, flesh, bone and then out the back. The boy was dead before he hit the ground.

As Arclock watched the youth take his last desperate breaths, and watched the outlander roar in triumph (for first blood was his), he felt his fury grow and his resolve stiffen. It seemed like this was the destiny of worlds, to meet over blood-covered stone rather than greeting each other amicably in beautiful fields.

 _Very well_ , he thought to himself. _I tried._

"Magi, the use of lethal spellcraft has been authorized. If they want a war we will show them how a _true_ human fights! Push these savages back to their frozen wasteland! For the Kirin Tor, For AZEROTH!"

Swiftly, as if Arclock alone had held them back, the magi switched into a variety of motions and stances, each summoning a deadly spell. On the lowest rungs, the apprentices conjured up bolts of arcane or icicles the size of arrows, while those of the fire persuasion summoned up balls the size of skulls. The Invokers tripled the size of those projectiles while the Archmages held themselves back, not yet willing to reveal the extent of their powers.

In a colorful volley all spells were unleashed at once and crashed into Norscan lines in an explosion of violet. Icicles proliferated the bare chest of Sarl tribesmen, with at least one of the ice shards cast by an invoker entering the chest of one and penetrating the stomach of another. Others were set on fire while those hit by arcane had skin that turned to glass, or else disintegrating completely. An unlucky reaver, hit in the heart by a guardian mage's arcane bolt, had his entire chest break into glass. The body collapsed floppily, unable to maintain its own stability, like a piece of discarded dough after a cookie cutter had carved out its core.

Not as many died as Arclock hoped though, and already some Norscans were hurriedly putting out fires or pulling out icicles with curses on their lips. Still, the Norscan line faltered. Arclock decided to add to the carnage by casting an experimental spell taught to him by the Bronze Dragonflight. His incantation used the arcane energy of creation to rapidly speed up the flow of time and, as a result, the spellcasters were unleashing volleys of magic with dizzying speed, their movements blurs. Even the non-magical Kirin Tor defenders added to the onslaught, loading a handful of crossbows and firing them so fast their fingers seemed akin to blurs.

Spells impacted the northern mob like rain upon the drenched. Shocked, for their foe's speed could only be compared to that of High Elven archers, the Norscans were slowly pushed back through sheer volume of missiles, the momentum of their reluctant retreat meeting the forward motion of the reinforcements pouring through the portal and, for a moment, barely overcoming the latter. Dozens fell in those chaotic moments from the pure volume of missiles.

* * *

Wulfrik was surprised for the second time today by the southlanders. Never, not even in the convents of the Sarl Shaman, had he ever encountered so many spellcasters at once. Had the Norse walked in on one of the rumored training grounds of a college of magic? Wulfrik's eyes caught sight of elongated ears and suspected his guess was true, for every Northman knew that Southern magic came not from the gods as was proper, but from the unnatural knife-eared inhabitants of Ulthuan. Though the tales had underestimated the length of said ears...by a substantial degree.

For the first time, Wulfrik began to feel a little wary about the possibility of a fight. He feared no mortal man but magic was something he could do little against...at least, not at this distance.

Then came Olvir's command-

"Form shieldwall, you dregs! Show these southlanders their pretty sparkly magic mean nothing to the true sons of the North!"

With a rousing cry, many quickly obeyed, bunching up around each other. Those towards the middle raised shields overhead, while those to the front and sides held shields in front of them. A few, lost to their own bloodlust, charged forward without the protection of the shield wall only to be punctured by deadly ice shards and bolts of arcane, which seemed to alter the very makeup of whatever was hit in a manner any follower of Tzeentch could appreciate.

* * *

Together, the shield wall took deliberate steps forward, shields aloft as various projectiles crashed into them. Some grunted as their hands burned, the heat of deflected fire being transferred through shields. Ice deflected and shattered off the bulwark through the strange violet missiles did severe damage as wood would turn to glass or even, seemingly, evaporate under its blows, with each subsequent spellwork leaving less of the shield available.

One of the magi, Straudanial, Arclock believed, had the novel idea to freeze the ground beneath them, causing several Norscans to slip, cursing on the ice. Momentarily, the shield wall buckled and a few more losses were claimed, however in moments the Norscans returned and reformed into formation, though forced to move slower now.

Arclock saw their advance, which was now approaching the fifty meter mark. It would not be too much longer before the invaders were within melee range of the Kirin Tor and the Archmage could guess, based on their ridiculously muscled limbs, that his foe probably favored the blade over the staff or bow. Melee combat would not go well for the Kirin Tor. He saw, too, the uncomfortable fact that warriors continued to pour from the portal. As of yet, he and the other archmages had avoided combat, wanting to stow their energies away for more desperate fighting. No longer. He glanced over to Trant, who grinned as if he could read his mind. Then, he turned to Summoner Wildsong

"Grand Summoner, we need more fighters to compete! Can you summon up as many elementals as you can control?"

Wildsong, who had just finished sending a powerful icicle through a northman shield (spearing the hand underneath) turned and nodded her affirmation. "Of course, archmage. Let us see how well these ice savages can handle the fury of the oceans!"

"Good" Pleased; Arclock turned his attention to the communicator and entered the instructions for the constructs to converge on his position. "Now, let's see how these barbarians like picking on someone above their weight class."

* * *

As a steady stream of Norscans rushed through the portal, excited by the sounds of battle, one moved with caution, wary of that same clash yet, simultaneously, eager to take advantage of it. He was Verlki, Seer of the Warping Eye, a Tzeentch sorcerer who had wandered Norsca for close to half a century. Caution had earned him those years, caution and the favor of the master of fortune. From afar, Verlki had orchestrated the massacre of the Gael tribe, the marriage of the prince of the Aeslings to a bride that sought his death and numerous expeditions to the Old World to collect artifacts. Verkli was a powerful sorcerer, in addition to a schemer, and sought to boost his magical power as much as possible.

Closing his eyes, Verlki allowed a portion of his spirit to drift above the wave upon wave of eager advancing Norscans to peer into the front. There, the warriors of the Sarl had formed a shield wall as their foes bombarded it with all sorts of bright colors. A bare few got through but, from what Verlki could see, the Norscans would meet the enemy in melee in-

Then suddenly, a dozen meters above the heads of the Norscans, 5 giant flaming stones- each the size of a mule- manifested out of thin air. Gravity took its course. Over four dozen tons of rock came crashing into the tightly packed Norscan formation, brutally crushing a score of Sarls immediately. The force of the impact shattered the bones all around the impact as shards of burning rock dug deep into nearby flesh, just adding to the carnage. Already the unit was in retreat, with the marauders that followed a little more wary, now.

Verlki's eyes widened in awe- but not at the spell craft. He had seen far more impressive in his day- cast it, even. Rather, it was that his foes seemed to wield magics unlike anything he ever saw. The other magi bent and molded around their gestures something that seemed akin to violet liquid that seemed to emanate from the planet itself. It did not have the stink that Verlki had come to associate with the Winds of Magic- no compressed emotions such as the boiling orange wind, no taste of divinity such as those commanders by the God sorcerers.

Verkli gasped, audibly, as he gazed past the veneer of magic to their very souls. He could see a flickering light, though it was distorted, like viewing the sun through bloodstained glass. Oh, he could tell it was there, he could see the emotions of determination and anger on their faces for instance. But he could not feel their souls, could not read their inner ambitions, could not taste the internal corruption that lingered in every man's heart, could not reach out to manipulate it. In other words he could tell the sun was there but could not feel it's warmth- almost as if their souls did not belong to the Realm of Souls at all, but somewhere else….

Verkli took a cautious step back, and then another. The portal had presented an unfamiliar foe and prudence demanded his retreat. He would study this new enemy from afar and, in time, discover their weaknesses. Verkil took another step, only for a hand to close- very roughly- around his shoulder.

Verkil tried to turn, a word of power on his lips, only for a second hand to swing around his mouth.

A voice, grizzled with the experience of decades, spoke into fear. The speaker's tone carried no fear that was common in Norscans who dealt with those who could control the breath of the gods. Instead it was full of contempt and self-pride.

"My men are being butchered by southlander witchcraft, shaman. Yet, rather than helping them, here I find you crawling away from glory. Put a stop to this, NOW, or I will honor Tchar by pulling the blood eagle from your back."

It was good that Olvir could not see Verkil's face, for his eyes had widened in incredulity, his face molded into contempt of his own. Did the expedition chieftain truly perceive these humans to be Southlanders? Was he dumb or blind?

Not wanting to have his lungs forcibly pulled from his back, Verkil nodded once. The hands let him go and the man behind them stepped back, though not out of sword reach. For a moment, Verkil weighed in his chances of bringing the power of the gods upon the Sarl chieftain, before prudence and good sense eliminated that possibility. For now, at least. Instead, reluctantly, Verkil took a deep breath and reached for the breath of the gods.

There was as little to be found. This land was as parched of aethyric magic as a southern desert was of water, the magic of the aethyr a few floating leaves in a barren landscape. Unless….

Verkil turned, looking past the annoyed Sarl chieftain to the portal beyond. Cautiously, his eyes making clear to Olvir that the gesture was not intended to threaten, he reached out first with his hands and then with his soul, pulling the raw force of the aethyr from the Norscan side of the portal.

Again, Verkil felt a manic sensation erupt inside his soul and subtle whispers urging him to use this newfound power to destroy outlander and rival Norscans both. He resisted the call and turned his baleful gaze to the defender's line. It took him only a moment to determine the best target and, when he did, his grin was as malevolent as any daemon.

* * *

Meanwhile, at the front, the Kirin Tor were slowly pushing the invaders back through sheer firepower of their magic. Ice spells speared feet and hands, fire ignited the floor and arcane evaporated flesh like water. Joining these blows now were the elemental blasts of Wildsong's servants, their vaguely humanoid forms unleashing jets of water of extreme temperatures, blasts that scalded or froze entire limbs in seconds. When the Norscans grouped up, they were bombarded by fiery meteors or arcane comets.

The Kirin Tor kept up the fire, forcing the Norscans back when they got too close.

Yet, Arclock recognized that they could not keep this up forever. Already the apprentices were beginning to tire, their blows becoming weaker and more sporadic. They would need to rest soon for Arclock could not afford to give them any of Whizzlegadget's five mana potions. Arclock suspected he, himself, would need that in a while. Now at the far end of their throwing range, a few Norscans had hurled projectiles like axes and javelins in the interludes, one of which had speared an adept through the chest while wounds of another were currently being healed by the priest.

In front of him, a Norscan about to hurl a javelin was turned into a sheep by one of the guardian mages, which caused his comrades to jump away from their new lamb companion as if it was a vicious lion…or contagious. Then, from behind, Arclock heard two horrible screeches that swiftly altered into a cackling gurgle. Shouts of alarm and pain followed the high pitched notes forcing Arclock himself to turn in alarm from the front.

Arclock nearly dropped his staff as he felt, for the first time in this battle, real, genuine horror as he gazed ahead. Before his very eyes two of the Kirin Tor defenders were being eviscerated, fleshy strip by flesh strip, by these… unspeakable things. His mind blanked- he literally couldn't think of a word to describe the mass of flailing tentacles, crab-claw arms, moaning mouths and scaly protrusions. Only the heads at the center gave these creatures an element of horrible familiarity- the spectacles of young Becky Albock, the apple-red hair of John Matts.

Other defenders, recovering faster, desperately hacked and cut at the abominations to nature with magic laden swords that seemed to only irritate it more than anything. One of them backhanded a defender away with an arm covered with spiky contusions. Finally, a Guardian Mage made it scream in pain as he unleashed a giant pyroblast point blank. Fervently, Arclock whispered a mumbled prayer to the Light that it would burn-

That's it!

"Mr. Hayes, bring down the Light's wrath on these monstrosities!"

A trained healer, Hayes nevertheless did not hesitate to use his craft for violence, for what was this unholy horror but blight upon Azeroth that needed to be healed?

The effect went beyond the sensation of fire, as the Light immolated not just flesh but the soul as well. A quarter of its great form was disintegrated, instantly, by the Holy Strike. Purity incarnate, the light rejected the presence of chaotic corruption as surely as it had Fel or Shadow. As the priest turned his wrath onto the second, other apprentices began to cry out in pain.

Then, other apprentices began to shriek horribly. Arclock turned, a deadly spell on his lips as the forms of the apprentices writhed and twitched on the ground in unnatural forms, as if something was stuck and trying to escape. As Arclock frantically tried to think of an incantation that could help them, Magister Trant stepped forth. Holding up the green rock he had discovered, the magister spoke words of a language Arclock did not recognize, his free hand weaving motions that made no sense to the archmage.

Arclock looked at his colleague and friend in alarm- where had he learned this?

Beneath the magister the bodies of the thrashing apprentices slowly calmed and subsided, the pain ebbing away. Green magic from the students poured into his magical stone, which the magister held aloft high before pointing it towards the entrance of the portal. Arclock followed his gaze to the back of the Norscan lines. A wizened old, hunched thing- for Arclock was not sure it was entirely human- cast frantic motions as Trant pointed the artifact directly at the enemy spellcaster before muttering an incantation- this time recognizable, to Arclock's ears as a bolt of fire.

The magic of the stone mixed with that of Trant's profession, creating a fireball the size of a horse. Arclock's mouth dropped slightly in awe as the giant boulder of fire was hurled towards the sorcerer who bolted in a desperate attempt to escape.

The fire exploded when it hit the wizard's casting location, immolating dozens of nearby Norscans. Arclock turned to his friend in total awe, for though spells of such power were not unheard of, they generally required far more cast and preparation time. Trant had unleashed the spell in less than five seconds!

His face flush with triumph, Trant turned to Arclock and grinned.

And then his head exploded.

Apprentices, newly recovering from the spellcraft, screamed. When Arclock's mind was able to process its own actions, the archmage found that somewhere along the way he had joined them.

But it did not stop there. No, it got worse. For the headless corpse of Archmage Trant did not collapse but stood eerie still like a marionette held aloft by invisible strings. Then a new head emerged, this one avian like a giant, overgrown Zandalarian pterrodactyl head with glowing red eyes.

It spoke - but without its lips physically moving- to Arclock in a blitz of sounds that made no sense and words from languages that were incomprehensible. Only the tones of the speech provided any sort of recognition. Cries of pain, pleas of mercy, moans of delight mixed in with the sounds of machinery in motion and the sound of gunfire melded with a hundred other sounds at once.

There were visions, too, though they were as nonsensical and unrecognizable as the words, every one of them pounding into his mind with mind-numbing frequency. Arclock saw hordes of strange, blood-red daemons assault lines of scaly creatures that looked vaguely like a Pandaren Saurok. He saw the tall straight forms of elves, minus their distinctive ears, argue, scheme and then clash with one another in a panorama through time. A man armed with a Golden Hammer before great crowds of lesser humans, all bowed in worship. He saw giants of steel fire powerful rifles at uncountable hordes of even more monstrous versions of the Sillithids.

Yet some were made all the more confusing by their recognition. Arclock saw Dwarfs and Forsaken battle creatures that looked like a bizarre race of rat and man. Orcs of Orgrimmar fought their own kind, only the other orcs looked bigger, more savage and, oddly, less intelligent. Legion ships bombarded strange pyramids that vaguely reminded him of descriptions of the Zandalari Ziggurats. But, above them all, one image took prominence; that of a fair haired young man, dressed now in royal armor, shaking hands with what was clearly the royalty of an unknown land.

All along the Kirin Tor line, men and women tried to stem the psychic onslaught by blocking their ears but it was to no avail. The cries only stopped when Arclock managed to recover enough to drive two giant arcane shards into its head.

The bird had done enough, though. Between the magical attacks and the creature's appearance, the Kirin Tor firing line had faltered significantly. Too, some of the adepts and apprentices had begun to wane, their mana too low to keep up the needed rate of attack. The Norscans had not been idle and had eagerly taken the opportunity to push through the sputtering deluge. With two of the three archmages no longer creating walls of arcane or fire to limit their charge, the Norscans at last had reached close combat.

As Arclock turned, still shaking from his ordeal with Trant, the first of the Norscan reached the Kirin Tor. A adept, visibly quivering from his efforts to summon up more magic, stumbled backwards as he vainly attempted to cast a emergency spell only to be overtaking by the roaring Norscan, who tackled him to the ground and brought the blunt end of his axe down hard, over and over again. Another tried to retreat, only to be speared in a single thrust on the tip of an outsized spear.

Kirin Tor defenders clad in enchanted plate and wielding magical swords, stepped up to the breach and maneuvered those magic users that remained behind them. Undeterred by the plate armor foes before them, a living Norscan wall of flesh eagerly crashed into a steel one.

The Kirin Tor defenders seemed to scatter, as all too many were knocked to the floor. Bereft of the advanced training of the men of the Old World or, even, the more basic training of the other human nations of Azeroth (for Dalaran had ever put its attentions on magical dominance, rather than martial), the defenders were unable to put up a effective shield wall. More than a third died in those first couple of seconds, knocked down and the pummeled by opponents devoid of mercy. Even if many of the Norscan weapons could not penetrate thick steel (to say nothing of _magically_ enchanted steel) the Norscans could still target small joints in the armor, or use blunt force trauma to deal the wounds that piercing weapons could not.

Those of the Kirin Tor's defenders that still stood fared a bit better, though only to an extent. It soon became readily clear that their magically enchanted weapons were more than strong enough to cleave through what leather armor or wooden shields the Norscans possessed and several sons of the North were killed as an iron blade held to block was cut in twain or armor failed to provide the proper insurance. Yet magical weapons alone were not enough. Veterans of innumerable raids, survivors of a society laden with violence from the cradle, and recipients of mutations of the Dark Gods, the skill of the Norscans could not be denied. Neither could their vastly superior numbers.

Nor did they play fair. Tripping, crotch-blows, eye gouges and, when the defenders had been knocked from their feet, choking and violent stomps were all common methodologies used by the Norscans and, while the Kirin Tor would play dirty at times, they did not make widespread use of tactics such as those. Azerothian honor, just as in the knightly honor of the Brettonian Dukedoms and the Empire States, frowned on such behavior. The sons of the Norse laughed, called those southerners weak, and proceeded to use the dirtiest tactics known with greater glee.

As Arclock watched a defender blocked a blot from a barbarian's axe, only for his partner to grab hold of his arms and forcibly trip him. Another got in close and grabbed the defenders helmet, before twisting it so the footman could not see. But it was even worse were the magi, who lacked the armored protection of the defenders. Such obvious weakness only spurred many of the savages to attack with greater glee, as if the slaughter of innocents was the greatest joy they could get out of life.

It was on the relatively unprotected adepts and apprentices that the savage's true nature was fully shown. One- a young apprentice barely out of adolescence- was knocked down, tackled, by the likely couple hundred pound barbarian. As the boy wheezed the savage straddled the apprentice, pummeling his face with fists that broke a bone with every hit. The boy moved his arm up to defend himself only for the barbarian to grab it and viciously yank it out of its socket, before using it as a makeshift bludgeon on the weeping figure.

Arclock noticed this on the periphery; unable to assist directly as two northmen tried their might against him. Fortunately, the Archmage had plenty of tricks left up his sleeve, having cast it at the beginning of the melee. A Norscan impaled the mage, the spell activated and the psychotic grin of the Norscan turned to confusion as the archmage evaporated in mid-air. Time wound backyards, restoring Arclock to his initial position ten seconds ago. On instinct, the Norscan turned and received a arcane blast directly to the face.

His personal space momentarily free, Arclock turned to observe the rest of the battle. His heart stopped as the more calculating part of his cerebellum estimated that at least one third, perhaps as much as one half, of his force had been slain in just those opening moments, victim to savagery the likes of which would put a fel orc to shame. Only Wildsong's elementals proved a real challenge to the Northmen, as the Norscans knew not to strike the wrist bindings that centered their form on the mortal plane. Instead axes and blades struck at the center masses and heads of the elementals, which was wise based on conventional wisdom but poor based on situational. A few elementals had been slain, but many more Norscans lay on the ground moaning in agony from scalding or hypothermic wounds .

Unless Arclock could take control of this fight he estimated that in only a few minutes his entire force would be spent. Quickly, he gave a desperate order

"Magi, form arcane shields! The constructs are coming, hold position!"

With that said, Arclock lifted his arms and projected outward a brilliant violet bubble that surrounded not only his person, but all land within several dozen feet. The Norscans once again ran into his shielding, only to be knocked off their asses. As the Archmage had complete mental control of the shield he made its membranes briefly permeable at his rear, where a dozen Kirin tor poured in. Then, they added their magic to his own, bolstering it further.

All around him the remaining Kirin Tor formed shields in place, protecting both magi and the few remaining defenders. Some of these shields were made of magi- of varying skill level- gathering up in two or threes or even (for the unlucky) singles to create either the same brilliant violet bubbles as their masters, or else support those who could via magic. Arclock guessed he was fortunate that, the majority of this expedition had favored Arcane over the other branches of magic. Those few remaining the defneders, who had been the first target of the Norscans, gathered inside the mage' shielding, casting wary eyes at the Norscans as they rained down blow after blow upon the barriers in frustrated impotence.

Summoner Wildsong, caught in the open away from support, turned herself into a giant frozen icicle, momentarily confusing her pursuers. Cautiously, the poked the unmoving frost mage's barrier, unsure if the mage inside was alive or dead.

Brilliant pink bubbles shimmered among a sea of flesh and hate.

It was only a temporary solution of course. Arclock knew the barriers, which required the entire focus of every casting mage, could not endure punishment indefinitely. Eventually even those of Arclock and Arcantium, whose large shield could be barely seen over a Norscan's hateful head, would collapse, bucking under the repetitive blows. Over the din of cursing Norscans and clanking blades he could hear just that, the collapse of a field in a sound of glass and the predictable screams that followed after.

One of the Norscans, the one standing just in front of Arclock's field of vision, glanced back at the slaughter, his features clearly registering perverse enjoyment at the sight. Then, he turned his gaze back towards Arclock, the same sick smile twisting his features. The savage- who Arclock recognized as the same red-haired brute who drew first blood- motioned towards Arlock, and then towards the archmage's crotch, and then to his own axe. Arclock returned the gaze hatefully, hoping to slay this beastly parody of a human when the opportunity presented itself.

Then Arclock felt it, felt them! He gave as nasty a grin as he could to the Norscan, momentarily unnerving the other man as it became apparent the Archmage still had one surprise left up his sleeves.

* * *

That secret was soon felt before it was heard, as each of their steps caused a minor quake. Lost in the din of bloodlust, the Norscans did not notice the newcomers arrival…or, at least not until over a dozen tons of magically animated stone slammed into their formations. Over a dozen Norscans were pulverized in an instant, their bones crushed to fragments by the heavy steps. Others were physically pounded by these constructs glowing fists, hurled dozens of feet into the air or slain with a single, deadly backhand.

Shaken from their euphoria by the new foes, the Norscans turned their fury onto the hulking golems. However, the tide had been reversed and just as the sons of the Chaos Gods had been a foe beyond the Kirin Tor in close quarters, so too was this foe beyond them. Axes clanged impotently off crystalline hides; giant cleavers capable of cutting a man in twain barely made cracks in the magically enchanted stone chassis. Rationalizing that the arcane crystal that lay at the center of an arcane golem was its weak point, many Norscans aimed for that only to encounter a shield of arcane energy that resisted their thrusts as effectively as the stone skin.

Focused on the hulking constructs, few Norscans noticed the newcomers that had arrived alongside them. It was an odd pair, a gnome warrior riding a great saber-toothed panther of a distant land. Yet, in a way, they were even more formidable than the Kirin Tor's animated equipment, for these two had joined legions of their kind to fight and conquer continents and worlds. Already, they made their presence quickly known as the Kaldorei druid leapt from Northman to Northman, her claws expertly targeting vital arteries to tear fatal gashes.

Meanwhile the gnome jumped off his druid ally and set about the humans in his own manner, taking advantage of his comparatively miniaturized size to do so. Their attention focused almost wholly on the golems now (with what focus remaining eying the Kirin Tor Defenders and magi who were trying to rally), the Norscans did not notice as some of their number cried out as they fell from a blade to the knee, nor the wet gurgles that followed. Those Norscans that tried to bypass either the adventurers or the golems ran headfirst into the lingering elementals, still formidable as ever.

* * *

As the Norscans dealt with the newcomers, Arclock saw his opportunity. Arclock projected his forcefield outward in a shockwave that knocked Northmen from their feet. Other magi, those that remained, took Arclock's cue and unleashed their own such attacks. Arclock called to the others and, together, they blinked to a clearing out of the Norscan's reach. The golems, meanwhile, used the opportunity to stomp as many of the savages as they could beneath their multi-ton weight.

Arclock knew the lull afforded by the golems would be temporary, for eventually the sheer numbers of the Norscans would drag the machines down. Thinking quickly, he ordered one of the remaining adepts along with all the remaining apprentices to head back to camp and create a portal, for proximity to the great gate made it impossible to create one here, however he knew the camp was far enough away to escape the disturbance. With luck they could bring reinforcements in time. However, even if circumstances did not favor the expedition, the council still needed to be notified. Such was their duty to Azeroth, he said, for the council would swiftly muster a second, larger expedition to avenge them.

As the apprentices hurried for the camp, the archmage gathered the remaining Kirin Tor magi users to him. Less than half of what he had started out with remained. Nevertheless, Arclock could see determination in their eyes rather than despair.

Arclock was panting slightly as he spoke to them "My friends, I did not mince words when I spoke to our young apprentices and I will not now. Azeroth has dealt with enough invaders from other worlds. I have no doubt her champions will prevail here as they have on Draenor- both of them- in the past. Yet these invaders would pose a distraction, a distraction we can ill afford while the Legion stands poised to strike. This portal must be closed!"

As Arclock made his pronouncement, he scanned the crowd. To his surprise he encountered no muted attempts to protest despite the fact that such an order could very lead to their deaths **.** Instead, there was only a sense of fatalism for the worst and grim determination for the rest. Not for the first time, the Archmage marveled at the bravery exhibited by his fellows, many of which were younger than him. Having barely known a time when Azeroth wasn't beset by challenges, they had adapted well.

Mage-Engineer Whizzlegadget raised her hand "We all agree with you Archmage, but how do we shut the portal down? There are too many of these invaders between here and the portal and even if we reached the device, I don't know of any spell that could seal it. "

Arclock nodded at her "You are correct, Trish. While spells do exist that can seal portals such as these, it is beyond my power. However" Arclock turned to Arcantium here, who had been looking rather sullenly at the ground "we can siphon much of the magic from it, so that the portal could not sustain too many bodies moving from it. This barbarian invasion would be slowed to a crawl. "

There were problems with this strategy of course, though Arclock made sure not to mention them aloud. If the enemy had skilled spellcasters that possessed sufficient knowledge of portal creation or arcane magic, they could, potentially reverse the siphoning. However, Arclock was willing to bet that these savages did not have that type of knowledge.

It was a gamble he could not afford to lose.

He glanced at Arcantium, who did not meet his eyes. No doubt the other Archmage felt the sadness and guilt of his many apprentices' deaths. Normally, Arclock would sympathize, but he needed his colleague- and Whizzlegadget's- help for what was to come.

* * *

Meanwhile, the Norscans were being steadily pushed back by the crystalline giants, much to their chagrin. The golems were covered with a thousand notches from where northmen blades had attempted to penetrate, but as of yet none had been felled and only one seemed to have been damaged in a sufficient way (its arm destroyed). Perhaps if the Norscans had been allowed to fight as they would prefer, with room to maneuver their weapons, more damage would have been done but as of yet the steady advance of the 15 foot constructs had compressed men together so closely that they could barely move.

All this was observed, unhappily, by Olvir from the rear. He knew not what the strange southland sorcerers were planning, but the fact that they did not retreat when their servants had the Northmen occupied suggested either bravery on their part or some sort of scheming. And, in Olvir's experience, southlanders were more likely to be cunning than brave.

Gruffly, he pulled a warrior aside. The Norscan initially snarled at having been torn from the fighting but immediately cowered once he got a good look at Olvir's face. Olvir's tone was as gruff and as unfriendly as his manner. He gave an order and expected it to be obeyed.

"Go back through portal and tell Olaf to join the battle. Get the hounds while you are at it. "

As the messenger raced off to fulfill his duty, another Norscan stirred a few meters away. Verlki staggered to wakefulness, having barely avoided the sorcerous fireball from earlier. Cursing to himself, he vowed to make these other humans-southlanders or not- pay.

* * *

In the melee itself, Wulfrik had grown increasingly annoyed by the magical giants. Battling compressed and claustrophobic was no way for a Norscan to fight! They were not Southerners, who huddled together for warmth and bravery in their petty formations!

In a fury, Wulfrik hurled the man in front of him at the machine, who promptly swatted him aside like a irritating gnat. However, the fellow warrior's sacrifice had given Wulfrik an opening. Bull-rushing the golem, he latched onto its leg in a diving tackle and then, with his herculean strength, began to lift. His muscles –god-enchanted that they were- only barely managed to lift the gargantuan leg. However, he was not alone, as other Norscans quickly surmised what he was attempting to do. With their combined strength, they lifted one of the legs over their heads, toppling to the golem.

They did not allow it to get up, falling upon the mechanical creation like a pack of hungry ice wolves upon a wounded mammoth. With reckless strikes they targeted the joints of the creation while Wulfrik, with his own precision aim, targeted the crystal at its heart. He brought the Sword of Torgvald striking down, its enchanted blade penetrating the magical barrier that protected the crystal. With a mechanical twitch, the hum of the machine's life powered down.

* * *

Its sacrifice, along with the continued vigilance of its fellow machines, had bought the Kirin Tor time. Already the three mages-Arclock, Arcantium and Whizzlegadet- were moving in unison, their hands outstretched, siphoning the energy that helped power the portal into their hands and then into the leylines below. A pink force-field, held in place by the guardian magi, provided a protective covering. Though at first unnoticeable, the effect became gradually tangible as the portal began to flicker slightly.

Then, the tug of magic became violent for the three archmages, as something forcibly and bluntly pushed its way through. Something almost larger than the portal itself.

* * *

Bowing his head to avoid being cut off, the Olaf the giant entered the new world with groggy eyes. Blinking once, then twice, it half-wondered if it was still asleep, for hadn't the place it had lain down in been covered with snow? Yet in this land there was no snow and, if anything, it felt a little…warm, like it was close by a fire. Vainly, the giant's shrunken, inebriated mind tried to comprehend the new predicament before giving up and giving into one of its common urges. It was hungry.

It was then that he noticed the Norscan men were jumping up and down and pointing to the distance excitably (and also glancing warily at the giant's feet, for they had already claimed several who the giant had not been aware of). Dully, the giant arched its head in the direction of the Northman's' finger, curiously noticing the small (by comparison to the giant) moving rock figures fighting the other northmen. It scratched its noggin –since when did rocks move and fight? Still, living rocks was hardly the weirdest thing it had encountered in the north.

Standing unsteadily at the top of the stairs, the giant's head veered back and forth between the gesturing man, who kept chopping his axe up and down, to the machines. The giant frowned and shook his head at the other's foolishness. _Stupid human, no can eat rocks!_ The giant thought to himself.

He then picked up the screaming man, eyed him for a moment more, then stuffed the Norscan down his throat whole. _Can eat man!_

From afar, Verkil watched in irritation as the giant stubbornly refused to move. The causalities of his fellow Norscans did not bother him so much but the sorcerer was aware of how much Tzeentch was interested in the portal. Though the mood of the god was ever fickle the sorcerer knew that, if Verkil disappointed his master in such an important matter, the likelihood of damnation was near certain. Moreover, the portal offered the opportunity for the Norse sorcerer to boost his own power.

Using what fragments of the Winds of Magic he could gather, the sorcerer reached into the giant's simple mind and felt his primitive hunger. An idea came to him, a cantrip he had learned as an apprentice to a forgotten master.

With a muttered incantation, the sorcerer implanted a vision of a wounded, dying mammoth in the giant's sight, just behind the enemy spellcasters. Surprised at the sight of so much delicious meat (and lacking the mental faculties to question its sudden appearance) the giant began to lope towards the illusory beast.

* * *

Wulfrik, meanwhile, fresh off his triumph at slaying one of the mechanical abominations, turned his eager eyes across the remnants of the southlander force. Most of them were cowardly spellcasters, unworthy of his time, though he expected a few might be able to put up a fight if pressed. Still, his true passion in all his raids was hunting down and slaying enemy champions. Such acts proved that the mightiest of Norsca would always be superior to the mightiest of the other races of the world!

And thus, his eyes were drawn not to the channeling mages nor the still formidable remaining golems (for what the former were doing did not interest him, while he had already proven his superiority over the latter monster) but the great saber-toothed panther that tore, rapidly, through a beleaguered Norscan group. Already a score of his kinsmen lay dead, bleeding from deep wounds, at the paws of a feline who moved unlike any great cat he had ever seen. There was intelligence to her eyes that was remarkable and it did not escape the Norscan that her breed was said to only exist in the distant jungles of the far south.

Idly, Wulfrik noticed that several Norscans seemed to slip in the crowd, even when not fighting the great cat, and did not seem to be able to pick themselves up. Bewildered at first, this confusion quickly turned to wrath as he identified the cause: Jarl King Viglundir. Clearly that weakling king had gone soft from his worship of the eagle god, believing in schemes alone and neglecting to train the Sarl in martial honor and ability. After the battle, Wulfrik vowed to gather up all survivors of this unit and force them to fight in an arena against the expedition's chaos spawn. Those that remained would be redeemed in his eyes.

Wulfrik gave a bellowing roar; eager to show these softlings how true fighting was done. He pointed his sword at the great cat in an unmistakable gesture of challenge… well, at least to any of the sentient races. Showing her intelligence again, the panther immediately arced her head back and gave a roar of her own, spraying blood from her wet canines. Wulfrik nodded; she got the gist, alright.

The Norscan charged and his opponent matched his motion with far greater speed. She leapt towards the end of it, just high enough to bring her full momentum to bear but not high enough to where Wulfrik could duck under the strike to hit her unprotected belly. Wulfrik raised his shield and the great cat rammed against it, seeking to push him off his feet through the impact. Wulfrik braced, and though he slid backwards he managed to keep his balance.

However, where Wulfrik was limited to using two potential appendages as weapons the cat had five- her maw, two claws and two paws. Wulfrik gritted his teeth as one of said paws tore a large gash into his shins. In wrathful retaliation, he slammed his shield into her, knocking her off.

There had long been a saying, among some cultures, that cats always land on their feet and while not completely true, it was correct here. Wulfrik brought his blade downards, intending to sever the cat's back, only for his opponent's feline grace to prove more than efficient at dodging the blow. He recovered in time to block a brutal claw strike to the face and Wulfrik returned the deed by arcing his shield and pushing it forward, slamming the cat in the face.

However, this time, the cat drove one of her teeth through the shield and Wulfrik growled in pain as it penetrated an inch into his arm. Caught off guard by the maneuver, Wulfrik did not have time to snap off the tooth before she retrieved it. He did, however, gain a measure of his foe though. She was reckless, confident, and a little too eager to shed blood…or perhaps acquire glory? Either way she was a bit too like a Norscan in that regard and Wulfrik had spent his entire life fighting Norscans.

* * *

Arclock's channeled spell drained ever more power from the portal and, even now, the field was visibly flickering. Verkil, meanwhile, was panicking. No longer was the prospect of eternal punishment from his master implied- it was explicit now. Visions filtered through his mind, picturing scenes not of his own mind, picturing the Tzeentchi sorcerer in various scenes of incredible and creative torment. In one, his skin was pealed across a thousand different surfaces, ranging from frigid ice to poisonous spikes to heated magma-and he could feel it all. In another, his mind was trapped in an infinite maze of illusions, each as real as the last, each shifting to another vivid scene as soon as his mind acclimated to the former, ensuring constant madness.

With greater intensity, he willed the dumb giant brute forward, applying sorcerous pressure as subtlety was not getting the creature to move fast enough! It began staggering quickly towards the target, no longer even trying to pretend to watch its steps. As a result, the tally of Norscan dead grew each time the giant put his foot down however Verkil cared not. Fate would intervene for those it still had plans with, while the rest were useless pawns by the Tzeentchi calculation, to be discarded at a schemer's wish.

The giant's last step crushed a Norscan who had been fighting one of the arcane mechanicals. The machine's enchanted mind gazed skyward at the giant before him, which was approximately 3.99356839x its own size. Quickly, the machine calculated its odds of success as negligible, below five percent assuredly. Yet, its prime directive was a 100% certain; protect the Kirin Tor masters at all costs. Without hesitation, the machine ignored the Norscan's blades to its sternum and used its arcane reserves to power its fits into a powerful magic-laced punch.

The giant roared in pain, the pure volume of its bellow causing nearby Norscans to clutch their ears in pain. Like a child who had stubbed their toe on a rock it hopped around in pain…or, at least, tried to. Giants were renowned for three things- their dull-wit, their violence and their clumsiness- and it was an unfortunate fact that the creature was doomed to fall…unfortunate, for the Norscans that followed behind that was. Scores were crushed as its sixty foot frame landed with a terrible crash.

The giant was maddened with pain and fury of such intensity, Verkil found it impossible to maintain connection. In desperation, he began channeling aethyr energy from wherever he could find it- the remnants on the battlefield, through the weakening portal, even though the dying soul-fragments of the Norscans (though, oddly, not from the enemy humans, a little piece of trivia he factored away for later). With a burst of spent magic, he poured it into the giant, healing its wounds and allowing it to return to its feet with unnatural swiftness.

* * *

Wulfrik's duel with the strange cat continued, having each landed wounds upon the other. Wulfrik was sporting a scratch across his back his arm that looked infected, while the cat had part of its back skinned by the close shave of Wulfrik's blade. The pair circled each other, both weighing their options. To advance out of the stalemate, Wulfrik moved first, quivering his scratched and infected leg.

Sensing weakness, the cat bounded forward even as Wulfrik tried to bring his shield low to cover for the infected limb. The cat took the opportunity, jumping atop his shield to maul Wulfrik's face. Exactly, as the Norscan planned.

Putting his sword hand behind his shield, he lifted it up with all his might, hurling the cat through the air. Her claws strafed his face, leaving deep gashes, but his feint succeeded. Wulfrik drew his blade across her exposed belly.

The she-panther skidded across the floor, her claws trying desperately to prevent her own guts from falling out. No, wait, not claws- hands! Before Wulfrik's astonished eyes the cat's form collapsed and morphed, her figure narrowing at places into something human-like. Not quite though. The ears betrayed her as one of the Elven kind, though Wulfrik was still aghast at how long they were.

The once-feline eyes narrowed to slits as she continued to glare at him with feline hatred. Her hand was glowing green around the wounded area and, if the Norscan had to guess, he would bet she was healing herself.

The Norscan offered a smirk in return, making sure to put in enough lasciviousness to make the elf show the slightest nervousness. However, the Chaos champion sought blood today, not anything else. She was fortunate that he was not a servant of the serpent, after all…

As Wulfrik raised his blade, intending to end this annoyance, he failed to notice the commotion in the crowd that circled him, where one Norscan after another gave a cry as their legs were severed at the knees. To the perpetrator, those legs were like trees that stood in his path and he was, in his own eyes, the best logger there ever was…

The elf's ears twitched and her snarl became a sly, knowing smile. As Wulfrik raised his blade, seeking to take to claim her skull for the skull throne, she bowed before him, much to his momentary surprise. Or at least, he perceived it as a bow. To the Kaldorei, she was merely providing a stable platform for her friend…

At last, the form darted from the crowd, a war cry on his lips. As Wulfrik began to bring the blade down, he leapt onto the platform before him and then, with a snarl on his lips, the gnome rushed the Norscan. The tiny figure's helmet bashed into the surprised man's face, his brutal axe making a large gash in the man's chest. As the Norscan howled in pain and rage, adopting a defensive position, the gnome quickly helped his friend up.

Once again, Wulfrik was stunned into silence as he beheld his would-be killer; a Halfling! The notion would be laughable to the Norscan in other circumstances. The Halflings of the Empire, though rarely encountered by the Norscans as they hailed from a landlocked land, were frequently portrayed by the bards as half-man jokes, gluttonous mockeries of mankind put on the planet for divine amusement. The only thing they were said to be particularly good for is the quality of their cooking. Indeed, the captured Halfling cook of the Aeslings had given that tribe a certain type of fame when feast time came around…

* * *

Meanwhile, the clumsy giant had at last returned his feet, far sooner than it normally would have. Rage had overtaken hunger in its primitive mind and, rock or not, the strange creature was going to pay. The golem had already unfocused on the giant, its targeting mechanisms focusing on the nearest threats to its masters first and itself second. A logical choice, given mission parameters and the construct's own magical code, but a fatal one. Back turned, auxiliary sensory systems damaged in the melee, the construct did not see the giant's hand reach out for him. It closed swiftly and, were the machine capable of pain, it would have felt an excruciating amount of it as the rushing grip compressed circuits together and smashed gears.

Instead, sensing its own existence was fading, the construct activated its Last Stand Protocol. Emergency arcane generators sputtered to activity one last time and sent what power was left into its gauntlets. Vainly, the golem tried beating on its captives hand however the giant's strength was still superior by far. Still, the sudden upsurge in suicidal strength irritated and annoyed the giant momentarily and for a second it considered squeezing harder. Then, dully, it remembered that its stomach was still growling. A slight smile came to its face as it considered a (by giant standards) genius solution to solve two problems with one stone, if you will.

Moving its closed fist up to its mouth, the giant took a bite out of the mech like he would any other human. The sheer force of its jaw split the dying machine in half however, in doing so, tiny mechanical sharp parts went everywhere and dug into its gums and tongue. Hacking in panic and rage, the giant mentally cursed the stupid living stone and, upon catching sight of another, angrily hurled the still twitching half-construct at it.

The mech collided with the other with the force of a catapult. It was crushed instantly(along with a couple Norscans around them).

* * *

The Archmages panicked as they were now down to one, heavily wounded golem as their stalwart defense, the other remaining construct having been tackled by the Norscans. The few remaining Kirin Tor Defenders rushed in to try to stem the tide yet, they were nowhere near the Norscan's skill level as they had been before. In desperation, Arclock was forced to abandon the ritual to handle these new threats. Hastily, he downed an ill-tasting mana potion to rejuvenate his reserves and then began charging a powerful spell.

* * *

Recovering from the blow to his skull, Wulfrik adopted a defensive stance in preparation for his foe's next blow. It never came. Instead, the Norscan eyed his would be assailant as he argued, quite heatedly, with the elf woman while never averting his gaze from the Norscan. Back and forth they went and though Wulfrik could not understand their language, he could understand the tones behind it. Pleading, anger, stubbornness and determination. Wulfrik thought he knew the source of the argument; the Halfling wanted the woman to leave while the woman wanted to fight.

Wulfrik grinned at the elf-witch and spoke "Go. Run back home to whatever feline god you worship. Crawl back to him or her in shame and defeat! Let the halfman fight your battle!"

Wulfrik's words were indeterminable to the adventurers, but his tone was laced with such mockery that it needed no translation. The druidess snarled and made to stand up, only for blood to seep through the half-healed wound. The gnome barked a final sentence at his friend, a half-command and half-plea, pointing to the priest by the mages. Then he roared, and charged at the Norscan in a fury that the northman could respect. Behind the gnome, the Kaldorei looked upon with reluctance at the scene, her freed hand squeezed into a frustrated fist, before reluctantly following her friend's advice and seeking the healing of their mutual priest friend.

* * *

At last, Arclock's arcane bolt had manifested into a single, solidified spear the size of a horse. For a moment the archmage allowed it to hang in the air, glancing it over for imperfections, before sending it hurling down the field at the expedition's greatest threat; the giant. The spear arced through the air like a ballista before impaling the giant through his left shin. The giant's screamed, causing Norscans and magi alike to cover their ears in pain. Then, it fell forward, crushing another score of Norscans and landing only a dozen meters from the Kirin Tor.

Arclock wanted to make sure it was dead. Turning to Summoner Windsong, he commanded her to ensure her remaining elementals performed the deed. Windsong relayed the orders and, unthinkingly, the elementals carried them out. The remaining water elementals – five in all- sped forward like water rushing over rapids, weaving through the clumsy attempts of the shattered Norscan line to slay them like water around a buried blade.

In a flash, before the crying giant could properly react, they shoved themselves down the surprised behemoth's throat. Then, once they were deep enough, they froze and covered his airway.

The giant clutched his throat with one hand as no air came through. In a panic it flailed, desperately trying to crack the ice in its throat, its chaotically moving limbs causing havoc to the norscan advance.

* * *

The Halfling warrior was bold, Wulfrik would admit that. Fighting with two sharpened axes, the half-man moved and battled in the fashion that a Norse Berserker could respect. Wulfrik ducked behind his shield as his opponent, using a nearby corpse as a boost, leapt higher in the air than it should have been capable of to drive its blade deep into Wulfrik's shield. Then, using the stuck axe to lift himself for momentum, he raised the upper half of his body over the shield and brought his second axe around for a decapitating strike. Wulfrik quickly veered his head to the side and brought the pommel of his sword- for he did not have enough room to strike as effectively with the blade- around to deliver a vicious punch to the creature's face.

The warrior who Wulfrik thought of as a Halfling was sent soaring through the air by that blow, crashing atop a Norscan corpse. However, to the Sarl's surprise the enemy gnome did not die but rather slowly, determinately, picked himself up, spitting out bits of bloody tooth fragments along the way. Wulfrik pulled the Gnome's axe out of his shield only for the defense to split apart, having been fatally weakened by the axe blow, the elf-cats giant tooth, and the spells from earlier. Wulfrik snarled, momentarily tempted to hurl the axe back at the gnome, before deciding that such a move would only give him his weapon back. Instead, he tossed it the side and charged back in.

Wulfrik cursed. The enemy warrior moved with far more agility than his gluttonous kind should be capable of while still remaining a smaller target, meaning the Norscan had to bend to deflect his blows. However, nature did not give every advantage to the stunted midget, for Wulfrik's reach was far greater- a factor the Norscan was keen to take advantage of.

After deflecting one of the gnome's blows, Wulfrik hefted up a discarded javelin with one of his feet and used it like a spear. Forced on the defensive with only an axe as defense the gnome began taking some glancing blows, though his plate armor still protected him from penetration.

* * *

Elsewhere the giant writhed as he struggled to clear his throat. In desperation he began to smash and pound on it with his hand. Under pressure from such incredible strength, the ice began to crack however the sheer violence of the attack only served to drive the shards into soft inner throat muscles. Now, a torrent of blood began to drip through the increasingly shattered ice and where the giant had previously been unable to fill his lungs at all, now a flood of blood poured down into it.

* * *

Summoner Wildsong focused frantically on trying to summon more elementals to finish the giant off. However, in the commotion, the Kirin Tor had not taken into account the new reinforcements that had poured through the portal. These were different creatures than the bog-standard marauders that had come previously –reavers on mutated horses with blood-red eyes, wolves the size of horses that seemed to be half-elemental creatures of ice and cloaked hunters armed with javelins and a deadly throwing arm.

It was the latter that caught sight of Wildsong and, recognizing a prey without armor, hurled his barbed javelin. Intent on her summoning ritual, Wildsong never saw the projectile coming. Before she could even properly react it penetrated through her sternum, proliferated her heart and exited the back. For a moment the stunned elf grasped feebly at the missile as if trying to pull it out. Then she collapsed a futile call for the priest on her lips.

Their maker dead, the bindings that kept the elementals bound to the physical realm dissipated and soon too, so did the creatures themselves, evaporating into steam and fading like mist.

For Arcantium and Whizzlegadget, the spell was becoming harder to cast. One part of the reason was understandable; their golems all but destroyed, Arclock had to focus more of his magic on keeping the Norscans from overrunning their position. Such stopgap measures would only hold back the savage tide for so long.

Arcantium was despondent and it was only with the aid of one of Whizzlegadget's mind numbing potions that he had avoided giving into despair entirely. The lives of almost a dozen apprentices and adepts were on his hands. He had insisted on bringing them to the portal over the objections of Arclock and they had paid for his arrogance. Yet, thanks to the elixir's affect, he was able to turn the guilt into determination.

For the sake of his own absolution, Arcantium had to foil this invasion. _No_ , he thought, as another idea came to his head. _What if they came again?_ Better to acquire intel and _then_ destroy it so the armies of the Kirin Tor would be more prepared next time. Moreover, something on the other side was starting to disrupt his channeling and Arcantium wanted to determine that source.

Carefully, while only letting go of the channeling spell for a moment (though it was still enough to strain Whizzlegadget) he cast a spell that summoned an eagle-like thing made of pure arcane energy. It was one of his own innovations, inspired by his brief time working with Kaldorei sentinels in the Third War. The bird's sight appeared as a second sight for Arcantium and, even as his in his prime vision he continued to channel the siphoning spell he willed the bird on.

* * *

The duel between Wulfrik and the Gnome Gneeli Fastdrop continued with greater intensity than before. The Gnome was bleeding from a large gash across his face, the victim of a glancing slash by Wulfrik's makeshift javelin. The Norscan had yet to take another wound, courtesy of his reach advantage and a fact that drove the gnome to ever greater fury. When Wulfrik jabbed his javelin towards the gnome's midsection the Gnome swiftly reached out, grabbed hold of its tip (bleeding somewhat) and cut it off with his axe. Then he hurled the broke metal at the Norscan who dropped the broken shaft and instinctively moved to deflect with his sword.

This was the opening the Gnome was looking forward. Rushing forward at speeds he should not have been capable of, he drove his axe around to the back of the Norscan's knee. Wulfrik howled at the blade bit into his bone but the blow was not entirely unanticipated. The Norscan dropped but positioned all his weight into a lunge, crashing down upon the Gnome before he could retreat. His bones crushing under the weight, his axe trapped under the Norscan, the gnome warrior reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife, swiftly driving it into the other man's chest. Once, twice, three quick stabs.

Gritting his teeth in pain and hatred, the Norscan brought his sword to hang over the halfling's head and then brought it down viciously hard, spearing the warrior through his heart before twisting. The Gnome quivered beneath him, spitting up blood spitefully in his slayer's face, before going still.

For a moment he stood there, panting and breeding, before slowly, painfully arising to full height. Looking down, he gave the fallen gnome a nod of respect; he would not underestimate their kind again. In the distance, Wulfrik thought he heard a feminine cry of despair.

* * *

Norscans, intent on reaching the front, mostly ignored the eagle soaring above their heads. A few noticed it and waved their axes in a manner that curiously seemed more akin to a salute than a threatening gesture. The eagle flew through the gate without resistance.

Arcantium's jaw dropped and he nearly lost a grip on the spell (prompting another anxious gaze from the gnome). The Kirin Tor hadn't been fighting an invasion force- they had fought merely the tip of a spear! Behind the gate disorganized rank upon rank of savage reaver awaited, expressions of bloodlust and greed hunger on their faces. Worse things abounded, and in the eagle's gaze he saw more of those humanoid giants joined by mammoths the size of Stormwind townhouses. At their feat loped Worgen that looked as demented as to be rabid, frothing humans who probably really were rabid, and those deformed, many-tentacle monstrosities that that hateful sorcerer had unleashed earlier.

The very air seemed to match the malevolence of the army below. As Arcantium's eagle gazed upward, he saw it glowed malovently riddled with light blue gashes. Lightning crisscrossed the sky, illuminating it, and, in that moment, Arcantium forgot all about mortal monsters.

The monsters on the ground paled before those in the sky. Before him, he saw twisted forms of pink and blue cephalopods that seemed to gibber giggle and holler, pointing excitedly at the mortals before. Flying disks of flesh glided across the heavens as their avian-like riders weaved complex motions with their hands. Above them giant, almost Arrakkoan figures with glowing red eyes and auras of madness gazed greedily downward and Arcantium knew, somehow without knowing how, that these figures could see through his magical instrument to the soul beneath.

They lusted after him but not in the manner any depraved mortal could, for their wickedness far exceeded that. They lusted after his knowledge, his arcane mastery, his soul, his friends, his very society and far more. All of the planet, no all of existence would not be sufficient enough to satisfy their greed. . Despite the suppressant potions and his own experience with daemons of the Burning Legion, Arcantium felt fear begin to overwhelm him. Hastily, he looked away, beyond the bird-daemons.

It was a terrible mistake.

What he saw filled him with more terror than any daemon. A shape without description, a form without formation. Hope, greed, ambition, terror, courage and a thousand other emotions, more than a human could experience in their lifetime, overwhelmed him, sweeping over him like a giant wave in the aftermath of Cataclysm. Knowledge, only portions of it vaguely sensical, overran the mental fortifications of his mind.

Visions of madness bombarded him , each scene making less sense yet seeming more familiar than the last. He saw rivers of blood in which powerful conquerors died drowning over and over again in their own shed blood. Labyrinths with no end or beginning, through which madnmen wandered each claiming to know the path that lay outside, each as incorrect as the last. He saw bodies of pus so altered by diseases that they resembled the very swamp slime that surrounded them. He was in a vast circle separated into different layers filled with debaucheries that had previously been beyond imagination, each layer containing greater scenes of decadence than the last. These and a thousand more scenes.

Under the strain of such a gargantuan assault the connection broke and Arcantium fell like a puppet whose strings had been severed. He giggled, he cried, he swore and in his mind he contemplated a thousand more actions, nonsensical to any other mind but making perfect sense to his own. In the distance concerned voices called out for him and Arcantium could feel, numbly, hands reach for his person. The last fragment of rationality tried to warn his friends to what he had seen, however no words emerged. Instead, a cephalopodic tentacle did.

His friends recoiled back, horrified and helpless on how to save the archmage. There was no need. With the last shred of sanity Arcantium took out a knife from his pocket and slit his own throat.

Aghast at his friend's fate, the second Archmage that had fallen due to the foul mutation of the Other World, Arclock now knew that any hope of victory had ended, In an air of finality, he unleashed a single, powerful omni-directional spell that surrounded the remaining Azerothians and forced the enemy back as a wall of raw, arcane energy-ten feet high- blocked their path. Such a spell, however, was temporary.

Quickly, he weighed his options. He could retreat, flee back to Dalaran and inform the Council of the threat, if they hadn't been already notified. Doubtless, the Kirin Tor would muster an army, though it would take some time until they could pull back troops from the other garrisons. Or he could attempt to destroy some of the buildings surrounding the portal. It would not destroy the portal, which could only be done through magical means, but it could blockade it, forcing the Norscans to spend time moving it.

Speaking quickly, Arclock gave orders to the remaining Kirin Tor Invokers to retreat back to the camp and attempt to portal back to Dalaran with the apprentices. The adventurers would join them, as this was not their final battle. Arclock, and a volunteer force, would stay to try to do as much damage to the gate as possible.

Arclock emphasized the term 'volunteer' but in truth, the request was only perfunctory, a thin façade for a culture that did not like sacrificing others needlessly but needed to do so all the time. Among Alliance and Horde both a common code of honor was held to the highest possible standard and those expectations had certain standards. There was no doubt that those who retreated this day without his explicit orders would face scrutinizing stares and quiet contempt for the rest of their lives, the fateful word 'coward' always a whisper in the wind.

Out of desire to secure their legacies, duty or patriotism to Azeroth all those who had not been called to retreat did so. In fact, even some of those who he did order to retreat did not follow his order. The three remaining Invokers took up positions near Strike team Epselon, who had drawn their arcane-soaked blades as two of them pooled the very last of their mana into the surrounding shield. It would not last long, not at all. Mage-Engineer Whizzlegadget, who looked almost like she had visibly aged from her attempt to drain the portal, pulled out a strange pistol that glowed with sanguine energy.

The adventurers, too, had wanted to stay to avenge their friend, who had fallen to the warrior who had first stepped from the portal. Arclock assured them that the greatest vengeance they could take would be to alert the Kirin Tor and, through them, the Alliance/Horde. Rather than just the few who would be slain in a futile charge those factions would ensure total destruction of the enemy and, thus, the ultimate revenge.

At the front, the wall of arcane magic flickered and died as Verkil, having recovered with his concussion, dissipated it with a final concentrated blast of aethyric might.

The druidess still wanted to stay but the priest seemed to be convinced and, after a quick but heated conversation, seemed to convince her to go, even if she moved with reluctance. Breathing deep as they left, Arclock turned his attention to the front and began to charge his last, final powerful spell.

Frustrated, yet sensing that at last the kill may be at hand the Norscans surged forward a final time and for a final time the remaining Kirin Tor defenders drew spells to defeat them. Dulled lights- echoes of the brilliance earlier displayed- emerged from their hands one last time. Causalities were few now, as the Norscans formed loose shield walls along their groups, advancing in formations that offered much of the protection of the earlier one without the risk of overly condensed forces.

Acknowledging the fruitlessness of their usual spells, those of the Kirin Tor began to adapt as well, freezing the ground beneath their feet to ice in some places, immolating it in others. New Norscan screams arose in the air as their feet burned which mixed with the medley of curses from those who fell along with a new sound- the howls of wolves, hungry and feral. Sprinting lupine ice forms charged rapidly across the distance, swiftly overtaking the Norscans as they moved effortlessly across patches of ice and avoided the scenes of fire.

The Kirin Tor unleashed one, last remaining volley of withering violet and orange before drawing their swords and close hand weapons. The dogs were on them some before they could remove the sheathe, their icy dagger teeth tearing through cloth and flesh as assuredly as Norscan iron. One unlucky invoker had his whole head nearly ripped off in one vast movement, the remaining neck only hanging by a few bloody thing strands. A guardian managed to impale an Ice Wolf only his burning blade only for the wolf, in its last moments of breath, to crunch down and break his arm.

And then the Norscans themselves arrived. Any resistance crumbled like wheat before a harvester golem as vengeful Norscan swords and axes cleaved through the last couple of guardian defenders. Realizing it was now or never, Arclock unleashed his spell, the powerful bolt of Arcane energy shooting through the air like a giant bullet and crashing halfway up a column of what held the archway up. Rocks began to crumble down, smashing a few Norscans who had exited the portal, blocking it in several feet of debris, but not enough. The ancient elven empire had built many of their holy sites with magic in mind, and a single mage strike would not defeat the engineering of the greatest empire Azeroth had ever known.

Hastily, the Archmage charged up his power for one final assault, his senses taxed to the breaking point by the strain of conjuring. Even an archmage's mana had limits.

The Norscans reached the Archmage, who by now was huddled in close with the last two remaining guardian mages and Trish. The Gnome brought her strange weapon to bear and, in moments, there were several flashes of light and three Norscans fell to the ground, each with a hole in their forehead that seemed perfectly cauterized. Yet there were too many of them now. The Norscans pounded on the guardian's forcefield with the force of a boulder hurled against glass. It cracked, split and then shattered.

The guardians tried to draw their swords yet the Norscans tore them into pieces before their hands could even grasp the hilt. Whizzlegadget got off a shot that tore through a Norscan's knee before she too was bisected. The Archmage felt the magic at his fingers, knew that he had the power to close shut the portal through structural damage. That hope was brought down by reality like the swords and axes poised to his own body.

As Arclock- exhausted physically and mentally- felt a trifecta of blades proliferate his body, he could only hope that would be enough of a delay. Still, the Archmage was not one to go out quietly. With a last desperate breath he pushed the gathered arcane energy outward, creating an arcane eruption that turned the archmage- and the nearest marauders- into ash.

* * *

Baying frost hounds, still eager for hot blood, pursued those of the Kirin Tor that had fled to the camp or the adventurers that charted their own path . Rushing on four legs at the speed of a galloping horse, it was not long before the wolves caught up to their prey. Desperate fireballs jutted out from their hands as the slowest of that small group tried in vain to deter the wolves through fear of fire. It was no use; these wolves were far too vicious, far too warped with impulses to slaughter to be intimidated by their elemental opposite.

One or two fell, howling as their ice-flesh steamed, but others surged heedless past their fallen fellows to tear into soft human flesh. Their animal minds did not register that these humans were of an entirely new world than their previous encounters, but they did register a strange taste that their minds lack the capacity to explain. It was not repugnant; just different.

As his fellows fell behind him the lead Invoke conjured up a series of mirror images – fragmentary copies of his own form, with enough solidity to attack and be attacked. A human opponent would not be fooled for long but the Invoker hoped the frost wolves would.

As the faint after-echoes unleashed a volley of arcane blasts- copies like themselves, strong enough to annoy but little more- the remaining Invoker bolted for Arclock's tent. There, the Archmage had bound a tiny pathway to Azeroth's leyline, allowing for easier portalling. Exhausted almost beyond his limits, the Invoker mustered the last of his strength into a final burst of speed even as the Wolves tore his copies into pieces, which promptly faded into mist.

Their primitive minds enraged by the deceit, the wolves bounded for the Invoker with vengeful fury. Just as they were inches from his back, the mage teleported himself forward and through the tent flaps. Hastily, he shut it and activated the mage's warding spells, which gave the makeshift dwelling a degree of magical protection. Enough to hold back the wolves, though not for long, and not with the help of their masters.

Outside the wolves howled and pounded on the flaps as the invoker breathed heavily, allowing himself a moment of respite. Turning to the dais that was in the center of the Archmage's tent, the invoker nearly slipped on blood. His eyes widened to their fullest point as he recognized the corpses that lay in the center of the room. They were the apprentices earlier sent away from the battle, their faces frozen in grizzly masks of horror. Each was recognizable-

 _Wait_ the man thought to himself _Where is St-_

The blade that burst through his chest like a skewer through a kabob broke that line of thought. The Invoker gasped and grasped as the sword- black as knight and as cold as Icecrown- was withdrawn with the same precision through which it was inserted. The Invoker sank to his knees, struggling with the pain, yet determined to look his murderer in the eyes.

Howling and pawing at the door, thirsty for man-blood, the wolves would normally have been only driven to greater excitement by the screams of the man inside. However, the sheer terror laden in the cry's syllables caused even their minds to pause. One of them sniffed, tepidly, at the door.

Faster than a man could blink, every hair the others' following, whimpering back to their masters.

* * *

Elsewhere, the Priest and Druid were being hounded by the Ice wolves, every few dozen meters punctuated by a fight. However they were no soldiers of the Kirin Tor, unused to melee fighting. These champions had fought vicious battles across three worlds and to them, the Ice Wolves were just another day's work. Already, two dozen of the beasts had been slain, their throats torn out by a panther's claws or else evaporated by radiant light.

However, their energy was waning and many of the Norscans-glory hungry as they were-had opted to follow the adventurers rather than the Kirin Tor. The pair had taken wounds, too, and the priest had not the time to apply any more than the most precursory healing.

At long last, the pair were driven to a cliff, a vertical drop several thousand feet below. To the surprise of the Norscans the pair did not cease running and, indeed, simply increased their speed. Enraged at the prospect of being denied a kill, the Norscans hurled their axes and spears however the priest applied a field of light around the pair which deflected the closest of the blows. Then, reaching hold of each other's hand, the pair took a leap of faith.

The Norscans slowed their pace, cursing at their enemy's cowardice and spite for denying them a honorable kill. Those curses, increased intensity and rage when the nearest Norscans reached the edge and took a peak downward.

The Priest was not falling, his body gaining fatal velocity every second; he was floating, like a feather on the wind. Hovering around him was a great, man-sized crow, her movements protective in case the priest's spell failed.

They were in an unexplored continent mile from the nearest shore and without any quick means to contact the lords of Azeroth. Yet, they lived, and with them, the prospect of an early warning for the invasion that was to come.

Among the cursing Norscan crowd stood Wulfrik, though only barely, given the severity of his wounds. Such blows would not kill the Norscan, for his star had farther to rise still, but it did fill the Chaos marauder with a sense of mortality for the first time in his life. Gingerly, he felt some of his most painful wounds. . The champions of these strangers were mightier than he expected, which would make hunting them down all the more delicious. But, above all, he vowed to hunt down the she-witch who had wounded him, for their fight was hardly finished….

* * *

AN: And that's a wrap for my first contact scene. It was my most difficult piece of writing yet, as I wanted to properly ensure the various advantages of each side (Magical firepower for Kirin Tor, close range for Norscans) was incorporated. I think I got the general flow of the battle down.

Thank you all for the reviews by the way, they are great inspirations for writing!

 **Carre**

Thank you for the review! Don't worry about the questions, I love those and your English is fine!

I talked about corruption in the fic "Azeroth Meets the End Times'. I highly suggest you read "Update May 16" for more detail about my thoughts . Essentially, there are three types of Chaos corruption- mutation, possession and spiritual decay. Possession was addressed in Azeroth Meets the End Times and ill address mutation below.

Also, over the last few weeks I have had the privilege to have a private conversation with one of Blizzard's former and/or current internal development (story) writers. I learned some revelations from those discussions. Though I do not reveal the name of private conversationalists, I will say that I am proficient (professionally) with prospect and background research and was able to verify that this writer was who he said he was.

 **Biological Differences and the risk of mutation**

In regards to biological differences your analysis skips over humanity, which in the setting are biologically and magically the same as modern (earth) humanity. Same level of chaos resistance as normal humans, same physical standards as earth humanity. Though Chaos can warp their flesh easier than any other race- and, indeed, humans are their most numerous servants after the Beastmen- they do not dominante all of humanity. Only those humans that live in the areas closest to the Chaos portals suffer.

Some like to claim that humans of Warhammer are more resistant to Chaos yet I have not seen any evidence of it outside conjecture. In fact the main writer of the End Times (Josh Reynolds) has stated publically on his that there is no real difference between Warhammer and Earth humanity in either biology or magical resistance. Meanwhile it seems like, based on lore descriptions(humans fighting for hours in plate mail, MOP cinematic), some game evidence and said anonymous Blizzard source, humans in Warcraft can be considered slightly superhuman and 'healthier' than modern humanity. This is due to the titan at the center of Azeroth, which has been 'leaking' energy (through places like the Well of Eternity) to give some latent power boosts to her children, not massive boosts mind you but enough to draw some notice.

In biology no race seems to be as resistant to corruption among Warcraft as the Warhammer Elves and Dwarfs are among their setting, that is true (though they do mutate at times). And indeed, there are fair numbers of individuals corrupted in Warcraft from various sources (Old Gods related- nightmare lord, Old Gods or Void itself, Legion related, possibly the light etc) . So it can hardly be said that Warcraft races are immune, or at least those of the Alliance/Horde. However, Warcraft does have a far, far better means to heal such mutations than Warhammer.

In Warhammer the means to cure mutations are all rare but range from scienceii to magic. For science, you technically can cure some _mutations_ in Warhammeriii it's just these cures are difficult to do, can merely send the mutation into remission, does not work on all mutations and is extremely risky for numerous reasonsiv. Magic, whether by wizard or by divine intervention is somewhat more common. The divine intervention of the Warhammer Order Gods can cure even the hardiest mutations, though this is an exceptionally rare event. Indeed in Dying of the Light Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay (page 77) it is established that you have to do something utterly spectacular to gain enough of Shallya's favor for her to do this. To highlight this issue further, the sourcebook of Marianburg mentions that thousands of cripples bathe in the sacred pools of the White Chapel, in water said to be blessed by one of the goddesses' most sacred followers, in the hopes of being miraculously healed. Thousands come every month and of those one, maybe two per month were actually healed.

This isn't because Shallya is mean or cruel or anything; its that she literally can't heal everyone. In Warhammer Order gods derive their power from worship and only have a limited amount of it, while Chaos Gods always have much, much more. Thus that power must be 'spent' on everything from fending off Chaos in the immortal realm to taking care of the needs of followers across the entirety of mortal lands, which really defuses the power.

Warcraft….does not have that issue. In Warcraft one can worship the Light or the Void, but said worship only allows the worshipper access to powers of said realm. It does not noticeably boost the powers of the Masters of Light or Lords of Void, for light will continue to shine and the dark will continue to be foreboding regardless if mortals are around to appreciate it. In Warcraft any who attunes themselves to one of the many sources of magic can, hypothetically, use it.

I would imagine the ability to heal mutations would vary upon the potency of the mutation in question, the strength of the magic in question and the strength of the source of magicv. For example, a druid might be able to heal tentacles coming out of your pinkie, but over some time while a light user could do it instantaneously. Even Malfurion however would fail to heal something like Nurgle's Rot while the Naaru (or Velen/Tyrande), who can actually cure demons of their…..demonism, probably can.

To sum it up…I think mutations would cause problems for Azeroth but ultimately they will be able to deal with it better than Warhammer humanity, who- even with their weakness to it- has fought Chaos nonstop for thousands of years without falling to it. Azeroth, by virtue of likely stronger souls (if slightly) and more abundant healing means, should weather it better. I am sure you can bring up the Curse of Flesh, but Azeroth A. Never completely fell for it (Stormforged exist) and B. Never were corrupted, en masse, by the Old Gods.

In regards to Khorne/Tzeentch/Any other god directly manipulating Azeroth at this time…I don't think so. The Warp/Realm of Souls/Aethyr does not exist at all in Warcraft and thus Warhammer has no power source to even do something minor, much less something massive. I also believe that if Khorne looked at Azeroth or even the Warhammer World and tried to do that absolutely nothing would happen (well, maybe a little damage to the Warhammer World). Chaos relies on warp saturation to influence a land with the more of it the easier it is for gods to influence the physical realm and daemons get more powerful .

1\. Chaos in the Southern Wastes: I would suggest you buy the Archaon: Everchosen book series. He goes to the South Pole and fights Chaos worshipping men around the coasts and armies of creatures described as 'half-daemon, half-Beastman" near the interior. I might feature some of that soon.

3\. Warcraft magic does not come from the Aethyr and thus can be used far more reliably than Mallus magic. I would expect the pity to go both ways.

5\. Certainly. Along with Nippon, Hobgoblins, Khuresh and more in time.

6\. Wait and see.

7\. I can promise you will see one of those in this crossover, not both.

In regards to orcs/Horde I could see it being a mixture of fear ('is this our future'), contempt ('pale imitations, they have no honor') and even hatred. I intend to cover that later though and Mork/Gork would have the same problems interacting with Azeroth as Khorne/Tzeentch.

In regards to faith you might see some peaceful respect of Azeroth towards Warhammer religons but to be followed by discomfort as they realize that their followers go beyond the Scarlet Crusade in terms of fanaticism. I don't see many converts personally as Warhammer faiths would have a very hard time arguing their religion is better or that Warcraft religion is false when the Warcraft objects of worship answer 90% of the time while Warhammer gods answer 0.001%.

Alas, the friendship of Jaina and Thrall seems to have died with Teramore.

There will definitely be people crossing the gate to Mallus.

And indeed. I am one of only two that I know who is doing a Warhammer Fantasy/ Warcraft crossover.

 **DIOS de la Nada**

Thank you for the comment! I figured they probably learned it from one variant of elf but I wanted to leave it open ended. Also the guy who unleashed a Blizzard in Ashbringers was Arcanist Doan I believe, who is noted for being one of the most powerful in the Scarlet Crusade.

 **Ronmr**

Thank you for the comment and Though there is always the chance of magic going awry, why would the Warcraft magic users suffer the miscast potential of Warhammer magic combat? Their magic systems are their own and thus while they may not accumulate magic as fast or as easy as Warhammer (allowing for more powerful spells) I do consider Warcraft magic to be safer and remain safer throughout the duration.

As for corruption I think I detailed the affects o physical corruption (Mutation) above while in Azeroth meets the End Times I pointed out that possession is ver rare for chaos and much rarer than Legion possession. As for spiritual…

 **Spiritual Corruption**

Well there is a lot to unpack there since spiritual corruption (basically choosing to choose Chaos willingly) basically depends on three factors: Mechanical, personal and societal.

Mechanical factors is the ability for the lure of Chaos to affect your soul. The best description I have seen of this occurs not in a Warhammer Fantasy novel, but in the Horus Heresy novel Master of Makind, which features heavily the Emperor. In this we can corruption from the viewpoint of the Emperor, where he executes a priest-king who had been twisted by Chaos, whose talons reached into his soul. According to the God-Emperor (who is as a reliable narrator as you believe he is) this priest's faith and self-delusion brought him closer to the Warp, which runs on such things, and allowed the friends of the Warp to dig their claws deeper into his soul.

Second is personal factors while have an incredible wide range of sub-categories. These include personality traits, such as greed, lust, wrath etc as well as mental states such as insanity or addiction. However, though these traits make one more suceptable to Chaos, they do not guarantee Chaos corruption. One can be extremely greedy and not be a thrall of Slaanesh, for instance. Examples of this include flagellants who are insane or addicts that zealously fight for Sigmar, with their religious faith helping them maintain independence. However, not even religious faith is necessary to maintain independence, even if you are screwed up. In Legend of Sigmar two of Sigmar's chieftains (Markus and Otwin) were extremely greedy and given to hulking out on the battlefield respectively. Neither gave into Chaos, despite being forced to directly confront scions of Slaanesh/Khorne in the novella.

The third is societal and that basically refers to how screwed up things are at a civilizational level. From End Times Nagash "As the millennia passed, great nations arose from amidst the strife, bastions of order in a worlcl awash with chaos. However, though these realms were strong without, they were hollow within, for they were maintained by hatred and distrust; ruled through pride and fear. Such emotions were as meat and drink to the gods, and they feasted in defeat almost as greedily as they did in victory. The mortals unknowingly crafted their own downfall. For even their triumphs hastened their inevitable doom."

So…how would this play out with Warcraft? Well, on a mechanical level Warcraft souls don't go to nor are tied to the Warp/Realm of Souls, they are tied to Shadowlands/Emerald Dream/etc. That removes a easy ability to manipulate off the bat however, and I should note this, in Warcraft soul destinations can be 'moved' around through various means and interventions. I would consider it possible for this to happen with a Warcraft soul into the Warp however it is an extra step that Chaos doesn't normally have to take.

On the personal level I should emphasize that Warcraft humans/races are generally portrayed to be less screwed up than Warhammer races. They are less given to petty racism, can actually form coalitions (even if the main two coalitions hate each other), and generally their society is nicer than Warhammer's . I know some Warhammer fans like to say "Well that grimdarkness makes them less suceptable to Chaos" and that isn't strictly true. The oppression can just as easily lead people to Chaos as it scares people awayvi and in Sigmar's more noblebright time there appears to be far less falling to Chaos in said novels. However, Warcraft individuals do have emotional extremes that may be able to be played upon.

On a societal level both the Alliance and Horde rely heavily on a strict set of ideals. For the Alliance it is honor, justice, nobility and idealism while the Horde is about scrappy pragmatism and honor. Many of these traits (justice, Honor) are antithetical to Chaos. Moreover, the Alliance/Horde are still new like Sigmar's Empire was in his novels and the rot hasn't set in yet.

Now whether Chaos can manipulate the Alliance/Horde is another question but as of yet, based on what I know of their personality, I cannot see ANY Alliance/Horde major character falling to Chaos. Individuals of the Alliance/Horde can and certainly will, just like they do with Old God and Legion, but I would have to rewrite canon personality for Alliance/Horde leaders in order to justify them falling to it.

So to sum up Chaos corruption effect on Azeroth I think it would do damage but would have less, rather than more, effect on Azeroth's mortals.

 **Worm1**

Thank you for the review! I would imagine e the Kirin Tor in particular are squishy but shooty but not every Warcraft race is like them.

 **Reed and Madfrogg**

Thank you both very much!

 **Iohannes**

Thank you for the review! A Couple of comments

Wowpedia over WoWikki. The latter was more or less abandoned in 2011, only sporadically updated after. Though WOWpedia has some inaccuracies it is much more maintained.

The Kirin Tor Defender came from a unit in the Kirin Tor Onslaught who served as a melee defense for the spellcasters. They had armor that visibly glowed with magic crystals and unnaturally bright swords as well. You can see their models on WOWpedia, WOWhead, or, if you want, I can try to upload a photo on imgur of them. I also kind of used the term 'Defender" as a catch all to refer to all those footmen (non-magical residents of Dalaran) that serve Dalaran. It was a semantics thing based on that Kirin Tor Onslaught unit, as I plan to include Footmen for Stormwind later and did not want people getting confused.

The RPG (where you got those low Dalaran numbers) was declared to be non-canon in 2011. Occasionally elements of it make it to canon, like Tandred Proudmoore, but you are better off assuming it is not canon.

Warcraft games suffer from the trope 'space compression' which refers to the tendency of game designers to show only the tiniest portion of a world that exists in their background, rather than the whole thing . This trope is common for MMOs and can be found in Bethesda games, Azeroth, Dragon Age etc. It is just beyond capabilities or consumer desire to actually portray a earth-like world in game. Can you imagine people spending days to cross a single province as in lore?

Continuing on from the last bullet point, Azeroth is far bigger in lore than game. It is a land where it takes a zeppelin traveling 24/7 at 15-40 mph 4-5 days to cross the width, not the length, of Kalimdor. The Blizzard contact I mentioned earlier said that, internally, Azeroth is said to be an earth sized world, so imagine everything in game scaled up to that.

Similarly for cities and towns etc they're all much more massive (in physical size and population), since a large chunk of any city's size is housing for its population, which is not worth the dev/art time needed to model and render it is confirmed by both the person I talked to from Blizzard and a public tweet by Loreology, their loremaster, in March 23 2014. SO in my opinion it is best not to use those low end Dalaran numbers (which don't make sense, as Dalaran stood at the forefront of the last three conflicts prior to BFA and in quests alone probably lsot more than your 600 amount) and compare it to a real life city state around that time (Enlightenment era) . I'd personally imagine, based on my canon causality chart and own inferences, that Dalaran has a population in the tens of thousands with a couple thousand more scattered in bases elsewhere. I can detail it if you would like, but right now we are running the risk of the AN becoming longer than the actual story!

The missing attributes (WS, BS etc) are a scripting error on the part of fanfiction and not mine. I am fixing that and by the time you read this the values should be incorporated on the Kirin Tor profile. Albeit sloppily, as that is the only way Fanfiction will allow it unfortunately.

Everything about Azeroth is magic. Everything, down to the sentient talking stone(though only Shamen can hear) from the titan soul that sits in the world's heart. In game Kirin Tor swords and armor glow with clear magic, their spellcasters appear in high numbers and Dalaran itself is the undisputed master of Arcane, with enchanters existing throughout the city. If you would like me to run my character through Kirin Tor bases and take some screenshots, let me know.

I would say that the average footman is probably more armored than a swordmen or halbeirder yet, if Imperial Elite armor uses advanced armor of Dwarf make, the latter would be more armored than a footman (or at least wear better armor)

I like your idea regarding formations it is positively brilliant! I have already given you credit for the Lookout sir! Rule and if I can tinker with the formations more.


	6. Longships

Disclaimer: I do not own Warcraft, Warhammer or anything mentioned within. That is the property of Games Workshop, Blizzard, Black Library etc

* * *

As day settled into night, fires of all purposes lit the plateau of a small island. Some were cooking fires used to cook the scant game that could be found on that island. Hungry and dissatisfied with those meager pickings, some Norscans turned to devouring the corpses of the fallen Magi of yesterday's battle, or at least those portions not needed by the shamen for sacrifice. After all, to a culture where everything from rape to murder to ritualized mutilation was not only common but, in some aspects, socially expected what taboo did cannibalism hold? Little, as it turned out.

Some were fires used for crafting and welding, for the Norscans were eager to depart from this island as soon as possible. The Island provided insufficient food stocks and, more importantly, insufficient glory. The Scouts that returned spoke of only standard fauna, like boar and deer, along with harpies and a race of strange fish people. Knowing Harpies as cowardly creatures from their incursions into Naggarond, a curious Norscan raiding party went to test the mettle of the fish-men tribes only to end up disappointed. Though the semi-aquatic creatures fought with admitted bravery and viciousness, their tactics were simple and their fighting style lacked the skill of veterans. The tribe of fish-men was massacred to the last of their kind, with only a few Norscans wounded to strange electrical magic or hurled tridents.

Some were funeral fires, great pyres in which the honored dead of the Norscans were burnt so that their souls could ascend with the ash into the heavens. Notably absent were the strangers of yesterday's battle, for it was rare that a Norscan to honor a southlander so, for the scions of the North viewed their southern cousins as the epitome of weakness. The southlanders had fought well, which was why no Norscan had opted to take their hands, but respect was not shown beside.

And some were sacrificial pyres, for though there were no prisoners of the previous day the Norscans still intended to sacrifice something to their deities. They were a god-fearing people, these Norscans, for they knew all too well what would happen if a Chaos God felt slighted. Better to shower the gods with excess than to upset them with a death of sacrifices. However, they were also a tribe dedicated to Tzeentch, the Changer of Ways, and favored him above all. And tonight, for delivering them to this place, the shamen gestured to sacrifice to him alone.

Yet, as the shamen conducted their rituals, they began to feel a creeping unease. Tzeentch offered many boons, as was his nature, but he was equally predisposed towards cursing his followers, for the sudden change of fate pleased he who was master of it. Moreover, the arguments of Verkil were starting to win over the more magically gifted of the Norscans, those who could sense a pervasive 'wrongness' in their minds, to this world. If this was truly a different world, then doubtless unknown armies and nations lurked within its expanses, eager for vengeance. Though Norscans loved danger and would eagerly fight a new foe, none wished to fade into oblivion without acquiring glory first.

The doubts began to grow and dark whispers entered their mind, speaking of doomed expeditions lost to the fickle favor of Tchar. All who experienced them quailed at the heresy of their own thoughts, for the shaman of the Sarl were committed to Tzeentch above all others. Yet they could not deny that, at times, their god was the embodiment of unreliability- or so the whispers in the back of their mind said. Perhaps they could still sacrifice the majority of the necessary reagents- enemy body parts and the weakest of the tribe- to Tzeentch but, intersperse those gifts with a few more to the other beings.

Most shamen of Tzeentch shook these thoughts aside. They were faithful, some would say deluded and believed fate would always favor them no matter the hardship. However, the Northmen were no more immune to doubts than other men and one among them, low on the status poll, had an extreme bout of uncertainty. Thus, even as his fellows sacrificed the lungs of the fallen and the sacrificed (gasping Northlanders who had their lungs violently pulled out through the back) this lone acolyte tossed several other items not meant for Tchar into the billowing pyre: skulls for Khorne, bellies for Nurgle and an unmentionable part for Slaanesh.

Unfortunately, cursing shamen, led by Verkil the Sorcerer, seized their wayward brother for his divine transgression and added him to the sacrifice. As the acolyte screamed in desperation for the divine, any aethyric creature, to save him one such being slinked away, his form masked entirely by shadow. Of all the gods, Tzeentch had inflicted the most hardship upon him and Be'lakor was happy to return the favor. Let the God of Fate deal with his irate brothers- Be'lakor would use the time the distraction gave to uncover the mysteries of this world for himself.

As the daemon silently left, he could hear the loud shrieking of the unwary pawn, and the desperate prayers of Verkil for forgiveness, fervently hoping that the other gods would not notice.

It was not to be, for one already had.

* * *

In a realm beyond the constraints of time and space, the greatest of immortal deities luxuriated in their sinful domains, their attention ever split between millions of different events. Much of their attention was fixated on the Great Game, the never-ending conflict between brothers and the numberless schemes, battles, treachery and maneuvering that dominated such game.

When that attention was not fixed on each other it was fixed on the mortal realm. Here was the fuel for their aetheric wars, the fuel that ultimately empowered the Realm of Souls. Though the Great Game held the majority of their divine conflict, it was the mortal realms where their attention was fixated, for mortal souls were the one item in all of the Realm of Souls that a god could not automatically have and, as a result, they lusted after these fragments of the Aether.

Too, mortals were fascinating in their diversity. Many stubbornly fought the Chaos Gods, fighting a battle that the masters of ruin had long since won in the opening blow. Their struggles perplexed, amused and, even in one case, _aroused_ the gods. They provided entertainment for the most part and, rarely, were able to muster enough of a threat that the immortals were forced into tepid unity to defeat them.

Some recognized the power of their gods and sought their favor, always coming up with deeds of greater depravity and creativity to acquire it. Some of these champions were awarded great boons by their gods, either out of recognition for their services, hope that the new champion would further spread their glory (and acquire new souls for said god) or, even out of simple amusement or boredom among the divine. Their sacrifices provided succulent nourishment to the gods, though nothing tasted as good as a mortal who willingly corrupted themselves.

In writing of the Aether, the Warp, the Realm of Souls, I am forced to acknowledge once more the perplexities of a realm whose compositional structure is of pure potentialities and possibilities as embodied by the emotions, desires, and dreams that poured into their realm. It is impossible to speak of certainties in this place, except when they pertain to or correlate with direct effects on the mortal realm.

For example, it is definite that, after the sacrifice by the cursed Tzeentchi shaman, the other deities discovered Azeroth and Tzeentch's interest in it. What is not definite is the means through which this came to pass. Perhaps the result was instinctive; perhaps the gods were always aware of Azeroth from the moment the Aether touched the planet. After all cannot a great cephalopod of the deep ocean, with mutated tentacles of steel-strong fiber thousands of feet long feel their outermost tentacle as well as those closest? Perhaps it was the initial battle where the discovery was made, for though the Changer of Ways is also the God of Sorcery he does not hold sole ownership of magic; the others, even Khorne in his limited ways, all make use of the substance and have an affinity over it too.

Neither or both of these could true. But allow me to offer another account, dear reader, a chain of events that provides a narrative to the discovery. A story based on my own visions and speculation. A series of events that inserts mortal causality into a senseless realm. A sequence that I foresaw trapped between the warmth of a crystal lined sun and cold of a dark, sinking earth. It is a mental vision of my own description, so it should not be considered truth, for what is true in a realm of lies? Perhaps the description happened exactly as described, perhaps critical details differed, perhaps even it is a falsehood as grievous as any ever uttered.

Now, with the warning given, let us journey into the Realm of Souls.

* * *

I speculate that the sacrifice on the Broken Shore only constituted the merest drop in overflowing cups filled to the brim with mortal sacrifices. The Blood God would not have noticed the discrepancy when he supped from his bloody cup, for Khorne truly did not care from whence the blood flowed, so long as the blood flowed. Neither did Nurgle, for the god of rot was so often overrun with dead souls and the Kirin Tor did not give into despair at the end, nor had any particularly interesting diseases.

No, if any god noticed the discrepancy it would be Slaanesh. Slaanesh, the god of sensation, she who thirsts endlessly for new experiences. The Kirin Tor were representations of the new, tinged with a strange barely detected new magic and the slightest hint of something bigger. Vividly, in my mind, I can imagine an androgynous colossus pause in the midst of her endless sup, swirling the souls in his mouth the way a vintner would a new interesting wine. Then, just as she was about to swallow, to experience the beautiful sensation of digestion, the taste was gone, for the Realm of Souls was not the nominal destination of the scions of Azeroth and though portions of their spirits had been sheared off, the greater whole was sent to the Shadowlands.

This being, of course, in the early days, before the masters of Chaos discovered how to circumnavigate this inconvenience.

Slaanesh would have been surprised, infuriated, perplexed, intrigued and a hundred different emotions, all of them felt at such an intensity that a mortal mind, even as one as attuned as the Elven race, would collapse under its strain. Then, the emotions collapsed down into one- lust. Lust for what she did not have in the same way the wealthiest among us, dissatisfied by all their possessions, desire the few things that are not theirs with a feverish intensity.

Yet Slaanesh was not the spoiled son of a noblemen-he AND she was a god of incalculable might. Immediately, the being perceived the source of the taste, perceived the slightest hint of its brother Tzeentch and ascertained the desires of the other god in withholding this information. Jealous of Tzeentch's as yet unchallenged hold over this world and desiring to challenge it, Slaanesh would have ordered his Daemonettes to prepare themselves for battle, as they were so often called upon.

Slaanesh, as the goddess of sensation, is so often regarded as an addled god, limited in her decision-making capacity by overwhelming desires and need for constant gratification. Yet, he is so much more than that, for Slaanesh not only represents the act of gratification but the process to it. She is the embodiment of mental justifications mortals use to justify their dependence, the cleverness of the unseen mind in manipulating conscious thought to ensure the indulgence is acted upon. Rational men may use their capacity for reason and logic to satiate their indulgence.

Likely, Slaanesh knew that her forces were not yet strong to take on the Changer of Way's trickery alone, but he need not do so. Nurgle, the Lord of Decay, would no doubt be interested in a new world filled with diseases and pestilence, rot and decay. It is doubtless that Nurgle needed to hear little of Slaanesh's seductive words, for Grandfather was always happy to see his arch-rival Tzeentch thwarted. Too, the thought of spreading the joys of life to another world could have only caused the Lord of Plague incredible ebullience.

Perhaps a great war followed, in which the plague-ridden forces of Nurgle joined forces with the decadent host of Slaanesh to lay siege to Tzeentch's impossible fortress, delivering cracks to the Changer's incomprehensibly vast structure. Perhaps the pair of deities sought to confront the Changer immediately in the one place they could meet peacefully- the Court of Covenant, where ancient pacts demanded neutrality no matter the state of the outside immaterium. Perhaps this occurred after the Great War; perhaps before. Regardless, we can speak for once of near certainty here, for, invariably, the gods are drawn here innumerable times during the course of their Great Game.

Sitting in three sections across a vast circle, the lords of decay and change would have sat perfectly across from each other, as fitting for their position of chief rivals among rivals. The lord of excess would have had the advantage of not having to worry about his chief rival in attendance, leaving Slaanesh able to fixate on his other two brother gods without having to worry about the tantrums of the Last.

Unfortunately, for the Prince of Pleasure, this desire would not be met.

With a thunderclap, the table shook as a roar of undiluted rage strong enough to shatter the tops of mountains shook the table. Two heads turned to regard the entrance of a fourth with surprise while the third just stared inscrutably. Khorne, Master of War, had arrived.

Many thought the lord of war stupid. Frequently, he proved them wrong and often with messy results. Crude, unsubtle and often times predictable, Khorne was nevertheless very far from stupid. Even though the Lord of War had no use for spies or subversion, he nevertheless had learned to see beyond the surface of the Great Game and into its depths.

It was simple, really. When the war waned for the forces of the rival gods, it meant they were losing. When they were losing, the other gods doled out punishments to their less successful followers as Khorne himself did at times. Daemons were either forcibly devolved or sent screaming to the Forge of Souls, which was a realm Khorne could peer into. When the enemy gods did not banish less successful servants to the Forge of Souls, it meant they were not paying attention to the flow of war. And when they were not paying attention, more often than not they were plotting, as cowards had a tendency to do. That all three rivals were scantly paying attention to the Great Game must signify that all three were plotting, doubtlessly against their rival brother who tended to abhor such a thing.

Such had been done in the past and would doubtless be done again.

In the Court of the Covenant, the gods spoke not with words, but with concepts. Khorne bellowed loud, his very action conjuring up images of rivals of an infinite collection of mortal species driving daggers, bullets or some other instruments into each other's backs. There were images of blades drawn over sleeping warriors, of soldiers who perished over a cup of deliberately tainted wine. Every vision tainted red with fury and hate. Above it all hung the faint whiff of sorcery, the ultimate accusation of treachery and cowardice in Khorne's mind.

The Lord of Change rose next, an amorphous combination of twisting tentacles and mouths perpetually in motion. He 'spoke' in a devastating chorus of strange sounds collected across the breadth of creation. Among the cries could be heard the non-sensible like chippering birds, molting snakes and beeping vehicles. Others made a perverted sort of sense, when analyzed together- the protestations of innocence from the convicted man, the surprised squall of a bird caught before a predator, the maddening laugh of the insane meeting another, the desperate gasps of intertwined lovers of two races-unfamiliar and familiar both- caught in the arms of one another before their erstwhile lovers. It was a conveyance of shock and surprise or at least so the other gods thought. Not that they believed him, of course.

Slaanesh perked up briefly at one of these scenes but was interrupted by his rival god. Khorne bellowed once more and brought his ax square in the middle of the table between them. Great Canyons were carved from his blow, trenches that cut to the core. No words were needed; clearly, Khorne was in disbelief.

Next rose the Lord of Plague, the Grandfather of all. In a wheezing, ebullient tone Nurgle conjured images of life in all its fecundity, of the gasping sick and the sneezing afflicted. Some were recognizable in their afflictions; others were clearly of creatures whose time had long since passed or even those who had yet to come. Pox-marked children hid from one another, gasping playfully in song and pointing outwards, in the direction of Tzeentch.

Before the vision of the children had ended the Changer of Ways was already in motion once more, his multiple sets of arms (having grown them during Nurgle's speech) shifting to and from. Visions of the sobbing prisoners before the accusatory glares of their interrogators, of the innocent thrown to pyres and the truthful deemed false. Yet among them were other scenes, such as of a massive red war ax clashing down upon a blue steel shield, their wielders unseen. An explorer with an eyeglass that extended his vision tenfold glanced hopefully on the horizon, desperate to claim a discovery to justify diminished funds. Twisted denizens of the deep stirred to prey on fish that wandered to close to their maws, the living collapsed to death and rose again. Intermixed with those were scenes stranger still, such as cackling goblinoid smiles, figures rendered into glass and cackling children dressed in strange garbs pointing at another in stranger, shabbier garb.

All of it made sense. None of it did. For a moment, two gods looked around in confusion.

Not so the third.

Say what you will about her, but Slaanesh was neither stupid nor unsubtle. After all, he was the god of lust and love and what game in all of the existence relied on hints and subtleties more than courtship? There was a tantalizing offer to be made there, of that the Prince of Pleasure was sure.

Nurgle's wheezing gasps returned, his vision depicting pox-marked human children at play in a sandbox of infinite creation. Three were the children at play, each taking a crude likeness of the gods of the table, knocking down sandcastles and stomping out their little inhabitants. Yet, as the exceptionally engorged boy in the middle looked around for his third friend, he could find the other not. Instead, the vision shifted to a scene of a conniving little urchin playing with new castles and figures in a hidden corner. The accusation of greed and dishonored deals hovered in the air, as the fat child was driven to despair and wrath by his treacherous brother's theft of what was owed.

Before Tzeentch could reply, Khorne took his spot, roaring out demands and spittle that evaporated portions of the rapidly regenerating table beneath his skull. Blood and brimstone and fire was the vision that he laid before the other's eyes. Skulls were stacked taller than the mightiest temples of the materials. No allegory, no silly scene of children at play and no dark promise whispered in a lover's embrace. Khorne simply showed what he was due and woe betide those who tried to take- or cheat- that from him.

Slaanesh knew what Khorne and Nurgle were referring to. The last time they had met like this, the world of materials-Mallus- was the topic at hand and doom was the proclamation. All of it had been divided up, the souls of the claimed fit only for consumption by their possessor. To Khorne was claimed the greenskins, the dwarf-kin who vainly sought to master daemonkind, the Ogres, the northern portions of Ind and Kislev, for no human land had seen war like that realm had.

Slaanesh had returned by reiterating his universal claim to all elvenkind as well as the decadent realms of Southern Ind and the ever grasping mouths of Skavendom, if the latter could be wrestled from the greedy claws of the pretend-god. Nurgle put forth his mark over the Dwarfs, with whom he had an ancient enmity, Brettonia and the dead who refused to stay dead, walking insults to the Lord of Decay. Tzeentch, ever fascinated with the race of man, claimed Araby, Cathay, Nippon, and Tilea, for he had long manipulated the development of those realms and was eager to collect. The Lizardmen as well, for much magic remained to be claimed from them. All had put forth a claim on Sigmar's land, for of all the powers that stood against them in the world he was one of the two that the Chaos Gods hated the most.

Of course doubtless, each god would try to cheat their brother's claim- Slaanesh knew she would. But the agreement was there, was bound by what amounted for promises in these lands. However, even Slaanesh conceded that war and pestilence were likely to claim more than his own seductions could.

That was what Khorne and Nurgle were worried about- that the promise was broken. That the End Times would not come to pass. That the doomed world would be spared for another day, to indulge in the Changer's myopic curiosity and love of tinkering.

Tzeentch countered, his hands- now resembling Saurian claws- move in the air to conjure up more visions. Some were inane, barely sensible, like visions of animals rutting with members of different species, of wolves howling at the moons or a child banging pots and pans together respectively, for no other reason than to make noise. Some contained hidden messages, like the sharks of the northern ocean swimming into the south to bloodily drag down new prey or human explorers of Lustria dying to an exotic new jungle disease. Others were overt, as flashes of creatures new entered the mind- blueish tentacle humanoids that clung to the light dwarfs unburdened by the failures of generations and, most of all, a plethora of new elves.

To Slaanesh's eyes, there were more types of elves then he had ever seen, split into different cultures, belief systems, and biology. And, in that instant, an alliance turned.

Slaanesh fully recognized Tzeentch's intent- he was not dumb after all. Moreover, Tzeentch's love of scheming was always taken to excess; which was Slaanesh's domain and the Prince of Pleasure could usually recognize what he fed off of. However, more than any other element of the material realm, Slaanesh thirsted for elven souls above all others and, though the goddess knew she would never fully quench that thirst, she could luxuriate in its sensations with each new soul devoured.

Too, there was another issue at hand. Though he took pains to conceal it from his dark brothers, Slaanesh was not altogether convinced at the wisdom of unmaking the world. SHe had dined well on its many pleasures and feared that such joys would be lost if the mortal realm ceased to be. Thus, if Tzeentch wanted to delay that doom to satiate his lustful desire to tinker in the lives of these new mortals, Slaanesh was inclined to support him.

Doubtless, there were other motivations at work here too. Nothing was simple with Tzeentch.

Slaanesh used this opportunity to speak, whispering as a lover might to a reluctant partner. Into his words he wove dark promises and fateful lures, each vision changing to fit the viewer's desires. Khorne saw a campaign of blood in which all the new inhabitants of this other world were matched against the 888 legions of Khorne, their blood and skulls being used to raise Khorne's throne ever higher. The promise to Khorne was simple, for the Blood and Skull god always sought more of both.

Nurgle saw countless varieties of plague and pestilence in new, interesting and demented forms, each infection bringing the gifts of overly fertile life and despair to the materials. Before the Plaguelord's eyes, a new world stood, full of those who had been hereto denied his gifts but now joined together in rapturous, inter-racial praise for their gifts.

Even the Changer of Ways was flattered by his own visions of a new cosmos in a state of endless contortions and disruptions, courtesy of a god who cared not for the idea of stability.

In every view there was a commonality- Slaanesh, who took the bulk of those mortal souls before them, graciously, sharing the scraps left with his brothers. However, far from protesting, Nurgle and Tzeentch were beguiled by the visions, involuntarily flattered by the attention they were receiving from Slaanesh and salivating at the thought of Azeroth's bounty. Khorne, however, was too far driven to wrath to accept Slaanesh's seduction and with a rude bellow and a thundering slam of his ax on the table, the spell was broken.

The debate continued, each carried out through visions more argumentative and hostile than the last. However, the context of the debate had changed now with Slaanesh's spell. No longer did any- even Khorne- debate whether the other planet should be ignored. Instead, all wanted to claim ownership of the planet and all were ready to war over it, if need be.

However, just as it looked like the other three gods were about to leave in frustration, Tzeentch- who had been silent since Slaanesh had tried to seduce his fellows- proposed a solution. A single vision arose before the four gods, a scene of ancient mannish warlord making a pack with all four of his Dark Gods. Glorious Conquest and Victory, in exchange for his most prized possessions.

A hundred years of brutal fighting followed, as the mortal realm buckled beneath the might of this mortal champion. Even the great human civilization of the east was forced to bow while the stunted dwarfs of the west avoided this chaos warlord whenever able. Yet, when the day came to collect on the debt four mighty servants of the Chaos Gods dived down from the heavens to collect that which he held most dear- his four sons, and with them any chance to build an enduring legacy. Bored, the gods had turned away from the warlord, but they never fully forgot about his sons.

Indeed, all had plotted to use the sons of that ancient khan to weaken the various mortal realms, an appetizer for the slaughter that the-soon-to-be-crowned Everchosen would bring, but perhaps now a more glorious fate awaited them?

Tzeentch's vision broke the deadlock between the gods, for even Tzeentch's rival Nurgle could see the merit behind the plan. All gods had nurtured those four spawn over the years, giving them blessings and material power and promises of so much more. It was a relatively even proposition, at least on the surface, for every other divine entity knew that there was always some ulterior motive behind every word of the Changer's.

Each plotted to scheme and steal and disrupt the other's plans of course. Even unsubtle Khorne, who detested scheming, rarely played by any sort of fairness.

* * *

That was my vision among many, a scene of madness as true or false as any in the immaterium. The only certainty I can speak of is the effect it had on the material realm, for great armies moved across the breadth of Mallus, each seeking to be the first to cross into the Other Planet. Hordes that numbered in the hundreds of thousands eagerly moved across the unstable and fluxing Chaos Wastes, every member dreaming of glory from the lands unknown.

It is difficult to say when this movement started, or how the Chaos Gods directed their four champions, or any seeming logistics of the endeavor, for the Wastes had been long been saturated by the stuff of the Ayther and as such the laws of reality were in constant conflict with their immaterial opposite. Given what is known about that impossible place, it is possible, as insane as the theory sounds, that the four champions were already in motion before the realm gate had even been opened, for time was never constant in the Wastes.

The only thing that is known for sure is that the Sons of the Khagan would arrive at the gate far sooner than should have been possible, given the differences in geography reflected by the composition of their armies.

* * *

Back in Azeroth, the Norscans grew restless, eager to take the next step of their journey. By now they had thoroughly explored their little island and, other than a few tribes of strange fish men and surprisingly intelligent harpies, they discovered no foes worthy of attention.

It did not take long for the Norscans to imagine a solution which was, not coincidentally, the same answer they used for any other occasion in which they were bored with their environment; sail somewhere else. Dregs and Serfs alike had worked day and night for the last week to create a small fleet of longships which, while not large enough to carry the Norscan's heavier beasts, could still fit eighty warriors each.

These, the most bloodthirsty and glory hungry of the tribe, would sail out to the land on the distant horizon, fighting and slaughtering their doubtlessly weak inhabitants as the dark gods saw fit, while waiting for the main tribe- including the larger beasts on the legendary dragonships- to arrive.

Five longships set sail to the lands on the horizon, crewed by warriors much too impatient to languish anymore on the portal-island. Led by Skeggöx Axebiter these restless warriors were eager to spill blood. Monstrously strong of limb and driven by murderous intent, the Northmen made a journey in hours that would take lesser beings a day. Too, each vessel was crewed by more overeager warriors than it could handle the claustrophobia only serving to further boil Norscan rage. The vessels meant to hold eighty each contained nearly twice that amount, though the number was slowly lessening as a few fell-or were pushed- overboard.

The men overboard cursed as the fast moving ships left them behind. If the gods favored them, these warriors would swim to shore to join their compatriots; if not, then they would be food for the already gathering sharks and predators of the Broken Isles.

As the Norscans closed in on the shoreline, a bright glowing purple sphere arose on the Horizon, as tall in some places as certain reaches of the Goromondy Mountains. Opaque and seemingly devoid of variance, the sphere nonetheless emanated magic to a degree even the Norscans had not encountered before and did not expect could exist, outside of the northernmost reaches of the Chaos Wastes. For a time, the Norscans stood before the sphere, marveling at it. Norscan audacity and recklessness quailed before the incredible sphere and, without mages of their own to counteract the strange magics, opted to sail around it.

Such prudence was rewarded, for within the hour they had spotted another settlement; another realm to sack! However, as they drew closer, the Norscans with the greatest eyesight slowed their war chants as comprehension dawned. They glanced at the village in great confusion and apprehension, for the tall, rectangular halls, the agrarian feel, even the overall layout of the town seemed all too like their own. Many a Norscan wondered aloud whether the shaman had been truly correct in their claims to be the first Norscans on this land.

Then, like hot water held in a pot above the flame, confusion simmered into hate and anger. How dare these strangers claim what was rightfully given to the Sarl by the Great God Tzeentch!? The oars rowed faster now, each beat accompanied by a gradually rising note to the Norscan war chant.

Yet, this time, their enemy was not unprepared. Strange instruments of metal and wood were mounted on the seaside wall, crewed by tall lanky men that stood a foot taller than the sons of the North, who themselves were taller than the weak men of the South. Momentary confusion returned, for even the most well-traveled of the Norscans could not recall the symbol rune-flags raised defiantly on the beach before them. Perhaps it was one of the lost colonies, one of the various sea-island bases the Norse had set up across the world?

Lost-kin or not, knowing or not, these tall-Norscans had committed sacrilege and loud oaths of vengeance were thrown towards the beach. They would pay.

* * *

Unfortunately, for the Norscans, the Vyrkul of Jandvik had been forewarned. Wounded champions, who nonetheless brimmed with glory and valor that Odyn himself could be proud of, had passed through the village just a few days ago. At first the Vyrkul had managed to ambush and detain them, with some of the tribe calling for their immediate execution. Yet, these Vyrkul were different than their uncouth kin of the north, who would gladly order such a slaying for no other purpose than to see blood spill to the earth.

Unlike their kin to the far north, the Jandvik remained loyal to Odyn, the Prime Designate. Though this mighty being had not stepped amongst his subjects for tens of millennia, his teachings, his sacred belief in valor and wisdom still remained important among the faithful. And it was neither valorous nor wise to slay wounded guests out of hand, particularly if they came in peace. It was not valorous, for the deaths of such champions in a weakened state would not reflect well on the honor of the tribe and it was not wise, for in a world of magic the ill-deed may well be discovered by their parent faction. And even isolated on the outskirts of Suramar, the Jandvik knew of the supremacy of the Alliance.

The Jandvik feared no battle- indeed, they longed for it, for in glorious death they might ascend to the mighty Halls of Valor- but neither did they seek unnecessary conflicts, which may well wipe out the tribe. It is in this manner that the Jandvik had managed to live nestled between the mighty Tideskorn tribes and the elves of these isles.

And so Jarl Throndyr, with restrained reluctance, ordered the visitors to be given some paltry food and water before made to deliver their tale. And what a tale it was. In fact, the Jarl did not think even the whalers could come up with such fancies, with their seaman stories of sharks that could swallow ships whole, squid-people from the depths and green brutish invaders from across the sea. More than once, Throndyr got heated, threatening to cast them in irons unless they told the truth. Yet, the pair persisted, their story consistent even upon separation.

Finally, the Jarl had summoned rune-binders, whose craft could be branded into hides to make the victim tell the truth. The pair had resisted, yet in their weakened states, they could do no more than knock several Vyrkul out (a feat that the Jarl reluctantly respected). Still, they could not hope to overpower the strongest race on Azeroth!

The pair screamed hoarsely as magical runes were branded upon their rears. Throndyr had to suppress his giggles; to let them out would be unmanly. Smirking a little, the Jarl ordered the pair seated once more, which provoked painful yelps from both human and elf, and another suppressed giggle from the Jarl. Then, he paid the adventurers to speak once more of what they encountered upon the distant island.

Much to the Jarl's surprise, they told the same tale, only this time with hateful eyes and, in the case of the Kaldorei druid, elongated nails that seemed almost like claws. The details were exactly the same- the portals to the distant land of ice and new magic, the strange disturbances that occurred at said portal, the expedition of humans by some distant (flying!) city and, most of all, the appearance of bestial monsters that seemed 'half-Vyrkul, half-man and half-demon" (at this, Throndyr privately wondered if math was a commonly taught subject in their lands).

Apparently, these creatures had frothed in the mouth like the Kvaldir and fought like the most demented cultists of the Legion or Old Gods (there was a pause here, as the duo had to explain to the Jarl what those were). No amount of magic could deter the horde of 'Half-Vyrkul' from charging Dalaran lines; no amount of causalities seemed to demoralize them. In the end the strangers prevailed, though they had to step over the bodies of their own to do so. The duo had watched friends die and taken great injuries themselves, but were forced to flee to ensure others could be warned of the strange invaders.

Thondyr wasn't buying it. Cowards, he called them and cast them in irons again. They protested as they were led off- the druidess with a litany of curses, the priest with reasoned denials. As he mulled over their fate, he sent scouts out to investigate the islands beyond, a command the Vyrkul performed with some reluctance, for the island- Thal'dranath- was rumored to be cursed. Home to whatever the Vyrkul recognized as a tomb to some unknown god, if the shamen were to be believed it had been twice raised and sunk beneath the depths by powers unknown. Sometimes, at night, weird lights could be seen from the island and terrifying, tormented screams could be heard upon the wind, like a scene out of Hel.

Yet, he believed the pair when it came to invaders. The Rune of Truth would not allow such a lie. Thondyr ordered his people to prepare for war, a joyous pronouncement marked with much feasting and drinking. A new foe meant new opportunities to earn valor and glory in Odyn's name, and hopefully ascend to the legendary Halls of Valor themselves!

The prospect of fighting a new foe brought no trepidation, but excitement! In fact, if what the outlanders said was true, it was likely to be a blessing from the mighty Prime Designate himself! For too long the Vandirk had been forced to reckon with the usual subjects-neighboring tribes of Vyrkul, addled elf exiles, the occasional Tauren of the Highmountain- without passion or much glory, for the conflicts were always sporadic, limited or, in the case of the elves, more akin to mercy-slaying than true battles. Perhaps if that strange elven race ever left that sphere-city on the Horizon he would have a worthy fight but, as it was, only outcastes ever exited the city, and they degenerated into addled forms before too long.

The Invaders could change that. While it was common knowledge in Vyrkul society that humans were nothing more than degenerate northern spawn, they could fight potently when pressed and Throndyr gave some respect to a force that could route their vaunted mages.

Thus, as Throndyr stood at the top of his tower observing the incoming longships, one day after the interrogation, he felt a sense of exhilarating that reminded him of his first raid on the Tideskorn. In fact, it was uncanny how much this scene before him now resembled that past accomplishment. Like his raiding party, this enemy force traveling on longships, rowing harshly through the pristine bay waters, each thrust of the paddle accompanied by harsh chants and roaring battle cries.

Throndyr grinned, for their similarity only proved their formidability, for none that lived ,could fight as well as the scions of Odyn could!

The Jarl pulled out his battle horn and blew it, signaling to his Harpooners that the time to engage was nigh. At his command ,Vyrkul harpoon-engineers loaded their mighty harpoon cannons and, a moment later, fired them. Ten harpoons- unleashed at three times the range of the farthest hurled projectile and with many times the force- clattered against the longships, forcing the taunting Norscans into cover. One harpoon impacted a shield, ruining it and digging deep into the chest of the man underneath. The Jarl smirked; if the invaders were scared now, just wait until they encountered said cannons at a closer range, where the strength of the projectiles would be enough to puncture holes in even their boats.

Meanwhile ,the Norscans sneered and cursed at their opponents, the elation of moments ago fading into an even deeper sense of contempt and hatred for their foes. In their entire history, only the weaklings of the south used such siege weapons on the field of battle. Such cowardly tactics belied a desire to weaken the sons of the North as much as possible before melee, an objective that in turn showcased their fear of Norscan steel and muscle.

The Sarl had expected so much more from other Norscans but, apparently, they were to be disappointed. Angrily, Norscan rowers beat the waters with renewed fervor. The pace of the longships increased and, with that, the chants rose in crescendo. Another volley of Harpoons strafed the ship, spearing two men off the bows and penetrating through the wood to spear a rower serf in the leg.

Furious, the Norscans entered into a renewed bout of cursing and terrible gesturing. However, their threats and hatred were yet impotent, and the Norse had to endure another volley of Harpoons. This volley impaled several Norscans off the decks and broke into the hulls of the fifth ship, _The Despoiled Maiden_ , causing her to take on water. On board ,its warriors frantically tried to plug up the hole with their shields while the rowers reddened from ethe ffort as they beat towards the shore.

A fourth harpoon strike strafed the decks however, fortunately, only two men died this time. Now they were in arrow range and the handful of Sarl hunters on board unleashed their bows in a vengeful fury. The other Norscans hid behind their shields but one was unlucky and took a shaft to the arm. In response another volley of Harpoons struck the longships, forcing Norscans into cover.

The Norscans jeered once more and lowered their shields, only to fall into stunned silence. A couple hundred warrior-women, standing tall and clad like mythical Amazonians, stood on the wall alongside the harpoon cannons. In their hands were bows the size of oars lined with arrows the size of javelins. At the sound of a horn all of them raised their bows and fired.

Hastily, the Norscans raised their shields as arrows fell all around them. There were a few curses here and there as these arrows dug into exposed flesh like hands and legs; a few gurgles as the bolts found more vulnerable areas. However, by now the Norscans rowers had made it to the shore.

Eager now for vengeance, the Norscans leapt from the boats to the sandy shores even as additional volleys fell all around them, striking a few more. At Axebiter's shouted command the Norscans gathered together to form five different shield walls. Interlocked barriers nullified the incoming volleys and with a second command the Sarl charged forward, still in formation.

Despite himself, Throndyr found that he was impressed by the new invaders and their strange 'turtle' formation. He had not thought of creating such a formation and, at a glance, believed it of limited effectiveness in the typical skirmishes the Vyrkul fought. Still, he could not deny its effectiveness as the turtle formation reduced arrow causalities to near zero. Here and there the more powerful harpoon cannons broke through, spearing a man or two; however the enemy seemed adaptable enough to account for this, and quickly moved new shields into position.

The time for bows and harpoons was over. Now, it was the time for glorious hand to hand combat. Just before the Jarl himself left the tower to join the melee he blew the horn to indicate a final command; charge!

The call to arms was answered by several hundred throaty Vyrkul voices, each as eager for melee combat as their opponents. A stampede of bodies-disorganized, discordant but nonetheless passionate- bounded across the field towards the Norscan turtles. Within two dozen meters from the Sarl Skeggox gave a cry and upon that command the shields lowered and axes and hunting spears were raised. The sudden volley battered the charging Vyrkul, sending dozens to the ground but only serving to make the rest more eager for blood.

The two sides collided like opposing hurricanes in whirlwinds of blades, shields and fists. Vyrkul and Norscans alike fell in droves in those first few chaotic moments, each side seeking fanatically to reap a great tithe among the other in recompense for their perceived transgressions. For just as the Norscans fought for their god given right to this land, the Vyrkul clashed in order to defend hearth and kin. Themes emerged in those early moments that would prove pervasive throughout the Vyrkul-Norscan war, little commonalities that would prove discomforting for both sides.

The Vyrkul were unable to deny the physical and cultural toughness of the foes they faced, which was so at odds to everything they had heard and been taught of about humanity. From what they could ascertain, humanity had grown soft and distant from their harsh origins, forgetting all about their Northrend beginnings and opting instead to live in enormous towns –cities- where every pampered desire could be cared for. They were the degenerate descendants of the Vyrkul in spirit as well as in flesh.

Yet not even the most obstinate of the Jandvik could deny that these humans did not match that description in the slightest. They were riddled with scars, bulging with muscles and had the hardened glares of men well used to raiding and fighting. Moreover ,there was something terribly…off about them. Here and there the Vyrkul would notice strange features on their foes, physical blemishes that varied from just noticeable to impossible to miss.

Skin that reminded them of the serpentine Naga here, a mysterious fire breather there, and a dozen more variations besides. One particularly potent warrior used what could only be described as claws, akin to that of a crab, as weapons. He used them with deft skill, crushing a Vyrkul Shieldbreaker's head here, eviscerating a huntress there. There seemed to be no particular rhyme or reason behind these …mutations

In time the Vyrkul would notice an additional abnormality, one that would cause even these hardened warriors to be perturbed. The Jadvirk fought for the glory of Odyn and were proud to be one of the few tribes to do so, while others fought for the cursed Helya or even some false king of the North. They killed in their name, glorifying in the act of victory, but were not as a general rule needlessly cruel (or at least as the Vyrkul would judge themselves) . Killing was done in the name of a purpose, not as the purpose itself.

The invaders seemed to blend that rule, taking pleasure with blood and gore and sadistic death far more than most Vyrkul did.

Yet, if the Vyrkul were made uncomfortable by the nature of their foes, it must be said that the Norscans were as well. "The gods favor the Norscans alone" was the common refrain, yet the Norscans were beginning to suspect that their wayward kin, who seemed different enough from the Norscans as to cause question to the connection, were stronger and more agile by far. It was rare for the Norscans to be outmatched so by a human opponent and never by those who carried no blessings of the Dark Gods, as these faux-Norscans lacked.

Infantry lines moved back and forth along the competing lines as several hundred pounds of warring muscle tried to overwhelm each other. The chaotic first moments settled into a grueling slog, a tug of war of shorn limbs and mutilating cuts. Packed, squeezed together by the momentum of the overeager rearward ranks, Vyrkul cleavers and Norscans longswords were in many parts of the Skirmish denied the room needed for a full swing, forcing their wielders to use them in the manner of shivs if at all. In a few places, frustrated by their own lack of mobility, Vyrkul and Norscans used gouging fingers, crotch –seeking kicks and throat-tearing teeth as foe-slayers instead.

Yet, , despite their close quarters savagery and the melee line stalemate, the Norscans were nevertheless losing. This was noticed by the Norscan commander, Skeggox and the reason for this change of fortunes was positively infuriating to the Norse commander. Not by melee prowess did the Vyrkuil claim victory but by ranged and magical means. From afar the elevated platform of the harpoon cannons still allowed them to fire upon the Norscans and, though they did not dare upon the front for fear of hitting their own, the Norscan reserves were fair game. Many had already fallen, like deer caught by the spear, while their opponents reserves were unaffected.

Moreover, the Vyrkul had brought magic users, strange black-cloaked figures followed by a series of hovering runes. Periodically, the strange shaman would reach out and grasp one, before breaking it apart to invoke its magic. Sometimes the sword of a Vyrkul defender would glow red and penetrate through Norscan shields far easier than they should, which they were doing with unsettling ease anyway, for the main Jandvirk troop was known as the 'shieldbreaker' among the other Vyrkul clans and they lived up to that reputation. Other times, the magic would have a more direct impact, targeting a engaged Norscan warrior with bolts of fire or electricity.

Skeggox grinned.

Had the Sarl been a tribe of the Hound, they no doubt would have been left with no recourse but howl impotently to the heavens and allow their rage to fester to daemonic proportions. Had the Sarl been a tribe of the Crow or the Serpent, they would have had somewhat more resolution, being able to gain vengeance with long term illness or simply take the enemies objectives with a uncanny enjoyment.

But no, the Sarl was a tribe of the Eagle.

Magic was of their domain. Cunning was of their domain. Trickery and underhanded tactics were of their domain. But, most of all, their domain was ….change.

Reaching inside a fleshling pocket, the Norscan leader pulled out nine specialized shards that flowed as green as the Chaos Moon itself. Indeed, the shaman who had given it to him claimed that these shards actually came from the warpmoon!

Skeggox moved quickly, injecting those shards directly into the necks of those fallen soldiers who still yet held some life within them. Questions and Protestations were ignored and Skeggox cared not at all that his actions damned the souls of those 'volunteers' who served under him. Only victory mattered...and the glory that came with, of course.

Violently, the afflicted began to convulse rapidly and without controls as mutations formed all across their bodies. The terrible magics first contorted them, altered them and then, finally, forsook them.

Where nine dying reavers had once lay, arose nine forsaken champions. Unsteadily they stood at first, as their sudden loss of higher mental functions left a dull haze over their now bestial minds. Numbly, the Forsaken took in their own forms, glancing over arms that had mutated into flesh blades and legs that had taken a sort of saurian aspect. The tiny figment of higher conscience screamed in terrified recognition and anguish at the sight and, for a moment, the creatures let out a most ghastly cry that could be heard even from the front, where the giant Vyrkul wondered what new beast was in their mist.

Unfortunately, one of the Forsaken turned his head towards the front and caught glimpse of the Vyrkul. It let loose a shrieking cry that seemed to be part hate, part hunger and which attracted the attention of the others, who joined in the crescendo. Then, propelled by instinct to ravage, corrupt and mutilate all those who did not bow to the Dark Gods, the beasts charged. Norscans leapt out of the way or, if they were unlucky, were trampled or even cut down by passing swings of the blade arms.

The Vyrkul noticed the disruption in the enemy ranks even if they could not determine the cause. Nevertheless, still eager for blood, they pushed forward into the faltering Norscans and used the confusion to slay several more.

They were unprepared for the forsaken onslaught. The creatures charged from the Norscan line like an ursine predator erupting from the underbrush to tackle prey. Vyrkul scattered on impact, overwhelmed for the first time by creatures stronger than them. The Vyrkul line reeled and nearly collapsed as many Vyrkul struggled to adjust to this new threat, with some displaying momentarily paralysis at the sight of their unnatural foes. Scything blades and crushing claws took advantage of every momentarily distraction, every loss, and even the Jarl took a deep gash to the stomach.

Then one of the Forsaken screamed once more- only this time in a screech of such agony that it disoriented and unnerved Norscan and Vyrkul alike. For a moment, the unholy creature was bathed in the purest light, its form illuminated by what seemed to be a localized sun. Then, the light faded and with it the corrupted man too. Only ash lingered in its place.

From out of the heavens, a giant hulking bear tackled the second, driving it to the ground as the druidess ripped across limbs with feral savagery. Stunned, momentarily, by their former-prisoners-turned-clandestine-allies, the Vyrkul were rallied by the champion's heroism, just as so many Alliance troops had been in the past. They resurged with new vigor, boosted, too, by the protective runs cast on them by the Runecallers.

The Forsaken were undeterred, salivating pus and blood and met the Vyrkul renewal head on. Blood and Ichor as black as tar was spilt as the cleavers of the Vyrkul chopped off limbs while many a half-giant cursed and bellowed as chitinous claws tore through stomachs and arms like shears through wool. The Norscans too, pressed their attack, though cautiously, for the northmen knew full well that their mutated former brethren often lacked the wit or sanity to distinguish between friend or foe in the heat of battle.

From the ramparts, the archers continued to fire, though their projectiles now focused in on the corrupted creatures in the midst rather than the regular Norscans. It was an ineffective response, for the mutated forms of the forsaken absorbed arrows as well as the toughest armor while their minds were too mutated to care. Already, some were sporting multiple, even a dozen or so, arrows in their bodies yet continued to fight with undiminished vigor.

Only the harpoon cannons proved effective, their bolts too massive for even brains lost to metaphysical madness to ignore. The spear sized harpoons smashed through their carapaces with ease and had already ended a Forsaken threat, with two more left helplessly pinned- but still flailing their arms dangerously- by the bolts.

Meanwhile, Skeggox was in turmoil. While the Forsaken had inflicted damage, they had yet failed to turn the tide. Curse those hideous spear throwing machines!

Moreover, his foe had a surprise of their own. From the rear of their force came the braying of hounds and the scuttling of dozens of furred feet. The tribe's worg pets had been let loose, and these wolves entered the battle with a wild bloodlust. Some booked straight through the legs of their Vyrkul masters, chomping down on legs or northmen nether regions. Others, the more cunning, circled around through the brief spaces at the end of the lines to attack to tackle and attack men from all sides.

Skeggox scowled, his innate Norscan inclination to fight warring with the Tzeentchi desire to scheme and fight another day. After all, a second assault- this time larger, with the reavers backed up by monsters like skinwolves and ice trolls- would almost certainly be a success…

Finally, he opted for the former, rationalizing that the other Norse would likely have him gruesomely executed if he returned empty handed. A sacrifice by fire, an offering to the sharks of these new waters or even (and the Norscan actually shivered at this) the terrible blood raven ritual. No, better to fight with the smallest chance of survival than go back where not even Tzeentch's blessings would (likely) be enough to save him. The god of fate was notoriously fickle, but he shared his brother's disdain of failed servants.

With a battle cry of his own Skeggox plowed into the fray, pushing aside his fellows and then bellowing into the front. His axe- the size of a grown man, large even by his opponent's standards- cleft through three Vyrkul in a wide arc, the magics of the blade proving sufficient to unmake shield and armor alike.

Around him, his men fell, but for a moment Skeggox's star shone blight, and he stood like a blood-red flower in a meadow of Vyrkul, his axe cleaving foes with every blow. True, the size of his blade made it unwieldy, and true the enemy had used the opportunity to claim some wounds upon him however the Norscan's armor saved him from the worst of those blows, and the war leader gritted his teeth through the rest.

His doom came not from the front, but the rear.

The Norscan screamed in pain as the twin saber blades of the nightsaber druidess dug in. Then, before the chieftain could bring his axe around, the druidess yanked him off his feet.

A dozen hounds, drawn to the Norscan like a pack of wolves were to a downed prey. The Norscan reached out, cracking the neck of one, yet could do nothing about the rest as they probed and found gaps within his armor. With his last panicked thoughts ,the Norscan could only curse his fate, for being mauled to death by mongrels was no proper way for a Norscan to die….

Their leader dead, some of the Norscans broke and sought to flee to their ships. Others stayed and fought on, preferring a glorious death in combat rather than the ignominy of cowardly retreat. The fate of both these groups was the same, of course, for there were not enough Norscans alive to properly crew a longship, much less one under fire.

Fifteen minutes later and the Jarl stood, exhausted but triumphant, over the last Norscan corpse. His spirit elated by combat, Throndyr was in a great mood.

Enough to let the outlanders go, even though he was within his rights to kill them for breaking out of their prison. The Jarl considered himself a fair man after all, and recognized the aid the two champions provided likely saved a few of his people. In addition, after seeing them fight, even he had to admit that the words 'coward' and 'weakling' did not belong in the same sentence as those two.

Still, the Jarl had once lthe ast gib to make at their expense, a last parting taunt for them to remember him by.

 _(as if they would ever forget his other….mark)_

The Jarl pulled back his head and laughed deeply. He gestured to the fallen Norscans

"That is your great mist-spirit, the foe that brought you here, fleeing like mountain goats before the huntress? They fought well, I'll give them, and savage too. But they were no match for the steel of Odyn's sons!"

His last sentence came out as a roar, for it was for the tribe's benefit . Swiftly, they joined in, their celebratory tones matching his own. Yet, they had lost many, more than they had in any raid of recent memory, and yes, the fallen would be missed. However, the Jarl knew without a doubt that the fallen had earned more than enough honor to get through Odyn's gates. Songs of glory, triumph and victory would be sung tonight.

He brought his eyes back to the outlanders and was surprised to note that none of the emotions he expected were on their faces. There was no anger, resentment, embarrassment or shame rather…pity. The Kaldorei was shaking her head, while the human had a wary look on his face.

Angry over the reaction, he opened his mouth in a snarl, but was interrupted by the second adventurer, the human priest

"Jarl Throndyr, you have won a victory today, but it is smaller than you think. I recognize none of the faces of the dead and, moreover, I have seen their vast army. Compared to that," The priest gestured to the fallen Norscans "This was nothing but a scouting force. "

* * *

Back on the Broken Shore, the weeks went by.

Unaware of the fate of some of their scouts, the Norscans continued to pour more effort into the building of longships, each day being marked with more trees cut down, more raids on those strange fish people or the harpy-women. The Norscan assaults were without mercy, and though they were met with frenzy aquatic born assaults and maddening curses, neither could hold back the chaos tide. Their hovels were destroyed for materials, their treasures used as trinkets and tools by the invaders, even their bodies and egg mounds used as food. Whole tribes snuffed out, like so many groups from whence the Norscans came.

Only in one place did the Norscans have difficulty, a tiny little island off the main one which possessed what seemed to be a hovel from afar. A few eager Norscans gathered a raiding party of six men and traveled out to the island, eager to claim whatever loot existed on such a place. Then, after a few days in which their shore party never returned, the Norscans sent another raiding party, this time three times larger than the last. A bout of bright green light was seen emanating from the island that night, with horrific screaming on the wind. The second party never returned.

Finally, intrigued and emboldened by the prospect of a real challenge, over two hundred Norscans on longships, accompanied by two shaman, sailed for the island, intent on putting this threat down for good. They arrived on the island to find a series of shriveled and burned corpses that looked as if they had been sucked completely dry. Suspecting, now, that the inhabitant was a vampire, the mage scoured the island with his magic, yet found nothing.

From the shadows of another island, the old orc hermit Drak'thul watched the invaders with growing apprehension and sense of de'ja vu. He had seen their portal, seen the bloodthirst of the invaders from afar and sensed the faint whiff of daemons, though of a different flavor then what he had encountered in the past.

Meanwhile, from the shadowy places of the island, the daemon Be'lakor worked in secret to keep the incursion from Kirin Tor eyes. Through the magic means gleamed from the mind of the carrion who he had possessed, the daemon prince returned reports to the magi in a manner that magically teleported the parchment to them, speaking of new discoveries (and occasionally sharing an insight) but making sure to instill the sense of cautious exploration, the type of information gathering that would take a great deal of time before results were delivered. From everything the daemon prince had learned before the Norscan invasion, the need for caution fit Archmage Arclock's personality and would be believed by his superiors.

Still, the daemon prince worried about a random visit, and wondered if he would have to intervene personally to ensure they were dispatched.

Be'lakor need not have worried, for the Kirin Tor had received word that tensions were flaring up between the Alliance and Horde in the Silverpine region as Gilnean re-settlers, worried of the intention of the nearby Forsaken, sabotage potential plague routes. Led by Jaina- whose commitment to neutrality was as thin as the delicate silk of a Sin'dorei elf- the Kirin Tor found itself maneuvered into support of the Alliance, regardless of the wishes of the other members of the Council. The move was met with mixed support among the populace, some of whom desired to honor ancestral ties with the Alliance while others believed neutrality was the best path for the city.

The council's attention was brought on that conflict, and though many members were curious about the continued discoveries of the gate they lacked the time or urgency to investigate personally.

When Be'lakor learned of this he reacted with suspicion and wariness, suspecting the hand of his frequent tormentor, Tzeentch, in the political troubles. He need not have worried, for the cause of the discontent between factions came not from a Chaos God but rather the simple fact that the Alliance and the Horde were being…the Alliance and the Horde. However, that was not to say that the troubles escaped the notice of the Great Changer of Ways, who was intrigued by their conflict. Already, new strands of fate were being weaved, many of which were faintly blue or red.

* * *

 **AN**

Thank you all for the deluge of comments! Seriously, they have been incredible motivating and I have drastically boosted my writing pace over the last few weeks because of them! I have already written the outline for what I plan to do the rest of this volume and am in the process of putting it into fruition.

I also wanted to ask my readers a question- should I merge Twin Legions and Chronicles of Convergence? It would enable me to make more constant updates though it would contain the same formatting, just specified out in the title.

For example:

1\. Destiny in Flux

ABeastial Ambition

BFur & Ice

Thus 'Chronicles of Convergence' would be updated every two weeks, rather than month. Or should I keep the current format?

Anywho, onto the responses

 **Reality Deviant:** Thank you for the response! Though I can't promise all what you mention happens, I do think the Knights of the Ebon Blade will piss off Chaos just as Nagash and other necromancers have. Also you would think that the Legion would hate Chaos, though I will note they are said to also hate the Void and yet use Void-based units in their invasions, including on the Broken Shore.

W **orm1** Thank you! Though do note that not everyone in the Tzeentch dominated tribe follows Tzeentch, so the Blood Eagle threat was valid. Also Tzeentch would accept such an offering anyway, as shown by the Wulfrik novel where the titular hero offers up an Empire mage to Tzeentch after performing such a move.

 **Wolpe:** Thank you for the comment!

 **Rommr** My pleasure!

 **BadOrk1** Ehh to be fair that is a pretty common theme among Chaotic factions. They dominate in melee (something I think I portrayed decently well) but suck at range and take big losses. In addition there were some unique environmental factors, like the rubble not being cleared from the tomb limiting range of movement, the weak Winds of Magic preventing Verkil from providing sufficient magical support and the surprise factor, with the Norscans being wholly unprepared for the fact that nearly everyone in the Kirin tor force was a mage.

 **Chayo** Wait and see! I do have some plans for Empire/Alliance interaction down the line.

 **Iohanes** Thank you and I hope you enjoy! Also I will be doing more profiles in the future, both for WHF factions and WOW ones. Ind, Night Elves, Southern Beastmen and more to come! Will definitely appreciate any feedback you can provide on those

 **Dios** Thank you and the Argent Crusade will come, though will be a while \

 **Madfrog2000** Thank you for the support, both here and in the PM!

 **rook435** Thank you! The Norscans are a interesting faction, with a suprising amount of different army lists from various sources. There is the Warhammer Total War version of course that I used first and figured people would be familiar with, however there are also different lists appearing in the Sea of Blood expansion for Man O War, the version appearing in White Dwarf 107, Citadel Journal 8 I believe, the Tome of Chaos RPG and the novels, all with different units. I suppose I should collect them all into one list one day, but for the story I will use a mixture depending on different situations. This was a powerful conquering army made almost solely of warriors, while the actual garrisoning army of the tribe would have units unfamiliar to WH: TW fans, like Thralls, Bondsmen and Huscarls.

Expect to see some diplomacy eventually, though the factions I am focusing on now don't really care for it unfortunately.

 **Guest 1** : Yes! My next story actually focuses on a Horde Adventurer.

 **Guest 2** Yep! The books of Mathias Elliason, among others, are a big inspiration for me. I also conversed with the author at points.

 **SigmaTW** Thank you sir! Rest assured, I plan to feature the Illidari heavily in a future chapter, along with their Wardens!

 **Guest 3** Though Chaos will sometimes show fragments of honor, it is generally not within their character to do so. To quote a rather excellent reddit post "Chaos entities are essentially paperclip maximizers. A paperclip daemon cares for nothing but making more paperclips. Time spent not making paperclips goes against its entire existence. It will stop at nothing in service to the constant, unending creation of more and more paperclips.

You can't have a benevolent being literally crafted from one single concept because they'll never be satisfied. Moderation is impossible for them, so the cup will always runneth over."

 **HappyVampire** : Thank you for the post! I Have been meaning to respond to your previous comment on Azeroth meets the End Times however I have been reluctant to update it as I am trying to contain my updates here. I find your observations very enlightening and they have shaped some rough drafts of interactions between Alliance-Empire, buffeting my existing research. I do intend to explore the interaction of the Alliance-Horde with civilized realms eventually.

On the gods I tend to do more research onto this subject, but I do think Sigmar, given his goals in the novel series and AOS, would view the Alliance as a god-send (pardon the expression). Here is a racial coalition not beset by petty intrigue, rampant racism and internal strife. The Alliance certainly can be arrogant, racists and the like, but that is very rarely directed internally and is pretty much focused on the Horde. From a QnA I read by Josh Reynolds, Sigmar tried to form a lasting coalition in WHF between gods of other races but couldn't, because they were all occupied by their own problems (The Elf's continually repeat of a disastorous cycle, Dwarfs sleeping, Nagash being Nagash etc) . In AOS he did form a coalition with greater success, but still was undermined by each of his allies in turn.

I wonder how you thihnk Araby, the Kingdoms of Ind, Nippon and Cathay would interact with the Alliance/Horde, given what we know and assuming they parallel somewhat (in a grimdark form) real world nations of the corresponding timeframe.

Hope to communicate in PM in the future.

 **Carre**

Whoa, a lot there and thank you for the comments. But starting off

Maybe on the White Dwarf showing up

The Scholars on Azeroth seem to be bound by less taboos than the Empire, as well as a generally liberal atmosphere to what they write. Doesn't mean they will be believed, though. That said since vampire (San'Layen) and Ratmen variants( Kobold) already exist in Azeroth, I don't think native Azerothians are going to be too skeptical about their existence. As for the all-female society I don't see why they would be disbelieving about that, the Night Elves were female dominated for years and the Zandalari in their questlines use what is basically 'voodoo' lazers. A lot of what shocks Warhammer people I think Azeroth would take in stride, as they have dealt with stranger (like time traveling invasions, Ctullu things)

Gotrek & Felix will show up on Azeroth, or at least I plan to have him there

As you surmised later on Wulfrik has not received his 'blessing' yet and can't automatically translate Azerothian languages yet. Rest assured though that I will not have him die before he acquires such a ability.

I am kind of writing profiles from scratch and am currently on Ind. Eventually, I will move onto Araby though I will need to be careful with them.

I want to keep Vampire-Sylvannas interactions close to my chest at the moment, as I am still developing them.

Ehh it does but this is made clear, such as in the Appendix section of WFRB 5 where it is stated that one model in game equals ten in lore and that every inch equals a meter. The space compression is less seen in the background than with Warcraft, as Warhammer (IMO) has a greater coherency about it while Warcraft authors have greater difference in vision.

Yes, Warcraft has sniper rifles and many can be seen in game.

 **Second Review**

Keeping that close to my chest

I do not plan on featuring Blood Bow.

 **Third Review**

I am keeping Alliance or Horde close to my chest, as well as which factions might want to join which. All I will say is that I have thought a lot about this subject. A lot. Two I comment on. Starting the Vampires will likely be intrigued by an undead (if Sylvanas achieves Warcheif again) in the top position and that in lore Sylvanas tried to bring the Azerothian vampires (San'Layen) into the Horde. Meanwhile, for reasons HappyVampire expertly laid out, I would expect the Empire to be impressed with the Alliance and pleased to see it is human run while Stormwind humans are going to be impressed with how long the Empire has fended off the depredations of Chaos and undead. I expect some bonding over their hatred of such a thing, though some factions (Witch Hunters, Stormwind-sanctioned Warlocks) would cause great consternation.

If Sigmar was around, I honestly think he would view the Alliance as the culmination of his ideals, as he has long desired to unite the races of order (Humans, Elves and Dwarfs) against Chaos but(according to a authorial QnA session) ran into difficulties because of the selfishness of the setting, the fact that the Elven gods are stuck in a cycle they don't seem to be able to escape and the lack of responsiveness from the Dwarfs. In The Alliance, all members are active and dedicated to each other's safety, their leaders are friends and while some internal disunity exists it does not appear to be anywhere near as damaging as in WHF or even AOS. Of course Sigmar isn't around in 2510, but given I intend to feature the End Times at some point….

I think Garrosh would get really frustrated with the Greenskins, honestly, and would have difficulty commanding them effectively.

Grimdark Gnomes? Probably would focus on utterly bizarre and unreplicable technology, but would function akin to mad scientists with a poor sense of ethics. Chaos corrupted Gnomes would basically function like Nazi or Imperial Japanese scientists.

It occurs in Twin Legions!

Keeping that close to my chest.

Well the Alliance seems to sanction (if reluctantly) warlocks and death knights, so they might look down upon the use of Djinn but I doubt they would forbid it, unless the person becomes corrupted.

Ill try to go through my books to find one that occurs in that timeframe


	7. The Brothers Khagan

The Norscans initially had hoped to launch raids on the untouched cities of this new world within a few weeks of their claiming of the island, yet it was not to be. Unbeknownst to Olvir, however, the island which the Norscans squatted upon was only twenty years old, having only recently been risen from the depths by Gul'dan.

That timeframe had provided the island with precious little time to grow a viable ecosystem. Only a few seeds had blown from the main Broken Isles and fewer still had the time to take root. Opportunistic harpies had settled portions of the island and, in their desire to make it more to their liking, had used their primitive magics to drive the trees to grow far quicker than they naturally could. Yet there was a limit to such forestation efforts and the migrants cared only to create new life in the portions they directly occupied, spurning the rest of the island.

The Harpies had been caught in the way of Norscan destiny and for that they had paid the ultimate price. After vicious skirmishes up and down the island the harpy tribes of that place were gone like the Scythians of old. The lucky had perished quickly, caught in Norscan nets, dragged from the sky and stuck like wild boar. The unlucky had perished slower, for the harpies of this world were considered far more attractive than the creatures of the Old World and the Norscans were creatures of base desire of a manner that this world had not yet seen.

However revenge- unintentional yet potent- would come. The trees that the harpies infested were often poor substitutes to the real thing, weakened, as they were, by the vile magics of the bird women, corruptive in contrast to the healing of a normal druid. The island possessed few viable trees, and of those trees only a fraction was in good enough condition to be used for shipbuilding. To add to this critical deficiency the leaders of the expedition had already made a grave error in allowing their most impetuous members to sail on ahead . As of yet these vessels had not returned, and were assumed lost.

Trust limited him, for Olvir (rightly) suspected that if the Sarl captains were allowed free agency on their own, they would leave to fulfill their own glory, free from his chafing rule. Thus the idea of ferrying men over one ship at a time had been stalled, as Olvir wished to manually ensure each vessel arrived at its destination and trusted few to carry out the task in his stead. Even then it was a task he could not commit too, for the Norscan suspected that if he left the greater bulk of the men back on the island they would revolt against him. To make matters yet worse scouts on the other side of the portal-for, lacking resources, Olvir had sent some teams of thralls back to Norsca- reported that the nearest forest in the old world was over fifty miles away. It would be gathered, they assured him, but the effort was taking a frustrating amount of time.

Gritting his teeth, Olvir had no choice but to wait. His soldiers grew restless and resentful- the respect they had for his past exploits only going so far. More than once the Norscan chieftain had to slay a warrior who had begun to whisper a little too loudly against him. Occasionally, full on brawls among bored Norscans erupted that threatened to spread into an insurrection, egged on by unseen whispers from two different sorcerers, only one of which was mortal. In the worse of these incidents Olvir was forced to unleash his huscarl bodyguards to quell the unruly bloodily and, in one exceptionally violent episode, used one of the expedition's three mammoths to crush the rebels….and everything in the nearby vicinity.

At least the food shortage had been solved for that week. Still, Olvir was grateful that the long distance teams he had sent for lumber had returned bearing carts upon carts of wood. It had taken much effort, but as the Norscans began to enter their second month on Azeroth, he was beginning to feel more at ease about the next month's prospects. With nearly twenty vessels guarded night and day at the Norscan's makeshift docks, including a legendary Dragonship (which was large enough to carry a mammoth) he could bring his force over in three trips and from then the sacking of this new land could begin. Tomorrow they would cross, and he had already sent out a small scouting force under the command of Ignateous- one of the few captains to have earned his trust- to find a suitable landing point.

Olvir grinned to himself- oh how he looked forward to that! The old veteran had made his legend sacking some of the farthest flung places in his world; now he looked forward to growing it further by bringing terror to a world that had yet to know the Norse!

However fate was ever a fickle master. Doubly so, perhaps, for those who chose to serve its divine embodiment. As Olvir ordered his men to prepare, at last, for their glorious raid, a fatigued, bloodstained figure raced from the portal, bleeding from a dozen wounds. Immediately, Olvir ran towards him. Instantly, Olvir recognized them as remnants of a logging expedition he had sent out a couple days ago. Just as fast, he knew what had assailed them and only asked one word  
"Who?"

The scout, pale from blood loss, wheezing, clearly not long for this world, managed to speak out

"The Crow. Kurgan!"

Olvir's eyes widened. He had expected another Norscan tribe, not a tribe of the Plains.

"How many?" he asked

The Scout grimaced in pain and almost collapsed. Olvir reached out and held him up. The other Norscan managed to look directly into his lord's face one last time and spoke a single word.

"More."

Then his form went slack.

With a snarl Olvir threw the corpse to the ground, cursing the boy's stupidity, for the younger Norscan and his squad had likely led the invaders straight to the portal. Brusquely the chieftain unstrapped his horn and blew a single note signifying war.

* * *

At the Portal….

History repeated itself, just as it had before and it would again. Invaders poured from the gate in droves, their total force outnumbering the defenders in a repetition of what had occurred a month earlier, and would occur again. Again the layout of the land, the uncleared rubble and the narrow opening, limited the invader's capacity while maximizing the position of the defender.

Yet here the similarities between Norse and Kirin Tor ended, for the Norscans cared not one iota for peace and lusted for the battle the way the addled did for their narcotics. Such a nature had only been amplified by the previous month where, after exterminating the native species of the island in an overwhelming tide, the Norscans had fallen into their most dreaded state; boredom. Restless, frustrated by glory over the horizon just out of reach and angered over their absence of raw materials, the Norscans had brawled much in the recent days among themselves. Indeed, the leaders of the expedition privately estimated that if the situation continued for much longer as it had over the last few weeks, more Norscans would fall to their own blades than had died in the initial battle.

The Norscans were the virile forced into impotency, the anxious driven to overload by events out of their control.

This new invasion provided an opportunity for catharsis. Rather than with reluctance and determination the Norscans greeted the newcomers with enthusiasm and passion. Howling reavers of the seas charged to meet their kin of the steppes head-on, each screaming battle cries to different names of the same gods. In a crash of wood, muscle and belligerence they clashed. Ungoverned by rules of etiquette or, in this case, tactics, the corrupted men of two different tribal groupings tore into each with unrestrained savagery.

It was an ugly melee, for in truth though they served the same gods the Norscans and Kurgan had always viewed themselves as rivals for their affections, treacherous as it was. Each sought to prove, however possible, their superiority. Yet the claustrophobic environment punished both factions, for the mighty weapons of the North were ill-suited for formation fighting. More than one flail-armed northman crushed the skull of his neighbor rather than his enemy, while another tripped and was crushed beneath the northern tide. The Kurgan too, felt this sting, and a few of the newcomers were downed by foes who they were unable to effectively swing att.

However there were more than just warriors in the crowd. From the rear of the Norscan army on top of an construction platform, used in the building of the dragon ship, Verkil and his shaman chanted loud, gathering up what winds of magic existed in this virgin world, that which had spread over the portal over the past weeks. As the tenor reached a crescendo Verkil gathered the collective magics of his coven and launched it in an all-powerful bolt at the Kurgan lines.

Like a rock sent skipping over a lake, the bolt of energy sailed awkwardly over the gathered masses, first slamming into a point in the Norscan lines before bouncing right behind the Kurgan front troops, then bouncing once more and entering the portal. Everywhere it landed men screamed and contorted as impossible appendages erupted violently and bloodily from their bodies. For some it was claws, others tentacles and still others more bizarre things like daemonic shouting heads, half-grown living animals and worse. For most the sanity snapped in an instant, and they turned frothing on themselves or their fellows indiscriminately, allegiance forgotten. Still others mutated further into the fearsome Chaos Spawn who in a mass of dozens of limbs inflicted untold havoc on their surroundings.

The fact that quite a few of those afflicted were Norscans bothered Verkil not. He was absolutely livid with both Kurgan and Norscan at the moment. For weeks he had manipulated fate, fanning resentment and hatred towards Olvir, for Verkil fully intended to carry out his silent oath of revenge for the threats made in the earlier battle. The final climax had neared its conclusion, the final revolt that would have dethroned the old chieftain would have occurred at the moment of his long-sought triumph- when they had all boarded the longships. The conspirators had already been enlisted, the plans had been made. All so that Verkil could assume formal leadership of the expedition and sacrifice the reaver to Tzeentch right as they landed, eliminating his rival and securing Tzeentch's fortune in one stroke!

Verkil snarled; his plans ruined, and by the scions of the hated Crow no less!

Still angry, he harshly barked at his apprentice shaman, ordering them to channel more energy to him. Such was a necessity on this cursed island, for though the winds had been pouring through for weeks there was still precious little of it, as if he was in Araby all over again. It had taken an obscene amount of effort to even unleash a single damned spell!

Eager to unleash his rage, Verkil began to speak the words of another spell and then stopped, abruptly. He felt the slightest 'tug', almost physical, on his stored magic. Verkil's reaction was instinctive, as he halted the spell and hastily scanned the horizon. Another sorcerer was here. The hypothesis was quickly confirmed as a mere handful of seconds later, a mighty bolt of lightning exploded from the heavens, incinerating a dozen Norscans in the rear.

There! In the rear of the Kurgan, given a wide berth by his fellow tribesmen, stood a figure dressed in ornate armor and capped by a single glowing eye. The man's sorcery was obvious to even one without the Sight and Verkil wasted no time in taking advantage of the other man's mistake; he should have targeted Verkil and his coven first. _Fool,_ the old Norscan sneered as he muttered the final incantations for his spell. Then, dramatically, like a archer stringing a bow, he pulled his hand back before unleashing it further.

Hastily, the other sorcerer attempting to conjure some sort of counter spell. Not fast enough. The arrow penetrated the skin and set the man on horrific, changing fire. Verkil watched in satisfaction at the changes wrought on the other mortal's body, for what was fire but change in its natural state? After all nothing could alter an environment as fast as a roaring flame. But wait, Verkiln noted in confusion to himself, why did the man's cyclopean helmet morph into a marauder's headstrap, why did his armor disappear as if it were never-

His eyes widened as the Norscan perceived the truth; doppleganger!

Panicking, Verkil attempted to throw up a protective ward but only got halfway through the notion as sudden hurricane force winds buffeted the platform and sent nine old men plummeting thirty feet from the top.

Sayl, chieftain of the Dolgan and who was so often called 'The Faithless', observed his handiwork with satisfaction and no little contempt. He sneered as he considered the Norscan seer's handiwork. _Fool,_ he thought to himself.

He allowed his staff to glow malevolently and the aethyric energies howling from the portal to condense around him, lifting him into the air as he surged, visibly, with power. Cautious to the extreme, he used his first moments to conjure protective wards around himself as a precaution, even though his visions had indicated no further magic users. Then, channeling yet more of the stuff of chaos through his body and grinning with the deepest sort of malevolence, Sayl unleashed the hatred of the Steppes upon this new world.

The first sign of his influence appeared at the bitterly contested front, as dozens of Norscans spontaneously felt a great and oppressive weight on their shoulders, forcing many to sag and some even to fall to their knees. As they struggled to throw off the illusion the Kurgan advanced forward, tearing into their slackened foes without hesitation or mercy. Quickly, a breach emerged within Norscan lines.

Sensing the turn in fighting, seeing the fall of Verkil from his own makeshift perch, Olvir sounded the horns and played the note that call to him what hunters existed in this force. Hopefully, their archery would be enough to claim the enemy sorcerer. As Olvir held the horn to his lips, Sayl's smile ran deeper at the prospect of dark mischief.

Towards the rear, a mammoth rider heard a note on the warhorn- charge! He frowned, looking down at the hordes of Norscans between him and the enemy. Surely it was a mistake? He looked back at Olvir in disbelief, but caught sight of the chieftain with the blowing horn on his lips. The Mammoth Rider knew Olvir's reputation and knew that if this order was not obeyed, a most gruesome execution would follow. Thus, with reluctance, issuing a silent prayer to the gods that his comrades below had good sense to move out of the way, the Rider ordered his massive mount forward.

Olvir cursed, and blew another note on his horn calling the mammoth rider back, only for his giants to lumber forward themselves, a look of faint confusion on their enormous faces. Enraged, Olvir turned to the battlefield and caught sight of the enemy sorcerer, who was staring straight at him. Perceiving what was going on, the chieftain leapt down from his perch and sought a quick point of cover. From what he remembered of the spell, such ability only worked if the wizard had a line of sight….

Meanwhile, the Norscans vainly tried to recover from the Kurgan's magic backed offensive. The officers, the haze of frustrated bloodlust falling through, saw the precarious situation and shouted orders for those not engaged to form a formation of shields and blades. By southern standards, it was one of the one of the most basic and least creative formations troops could form however, here, it was an advantage that the Norscans had over their Kurgan cousins, for the latter lacked even the minimum of discipline and coordination to form even that.

Of course the irony of having to rely on a tactic straight from the treatises of those who they regarded as 'weak' and 'cattle' was lost on the Northmen.

The formation came together and the charging Kurgan, having been delayed by a few stragglers, crashed into it, their hammer blows and cleaver slashes and axe hits struggling to find purchase in the wall of wood and metal. Of course, these were not attacks carried out by weak southerners, but hardened Northmen brisling with mutative muscle. Many a shield was shattered by a over-strong blow, and a few were even violently torn out of Norscan hands, sometimes with the Northmen attached. Other blows found purchase within the formation's ranks, for the Norscans were not uniform in their decision to wield such protection.

Still, the formation had its intended effect, and the momentum of the Kurgan ground to a halt. It stood possible for the Norscans to even push back their foe, if only the-

And then screams. Not from the front, but the rear. The Giants were had begun their charge and between them and the Kurgans was a field of Norscans. Too inebriated by booze to care (and they might not even if they were sober), the Giants strode forward , limbs and clubs the size of trees awkwardly swaying all the way. Norscans ducked and cursed to get out of the way however fortune favored all too few this day and even above the din of battle the gruesome sounds of men being crushed to death could be heard. However, some fought back at the giants, and thus their pace was slowed as the giants took the time to hit back at those who poked pointy things at them.

Behind them, following somewhat hesitantly, were the three mammoth riders. They had their mount travel slower than the giants, an allowance to their comrades, yet forward it marched all the same. A few marauders, still reeling from the giant's movements, failed to get out of the way of the mammoths, and were either crushed underneath or swept away by their sweeping tusks and trunks. One or two was even eaten as a pre-battle snack, for under the baleful influence of chaos mammoths have long since evolved to be carnivorous.

From the rear, confident the enemy sorcerer could no longer see him, Olvir blew a note that signified the mammoth riders should return yet, over the haze of battle, over the screams and cries of so many Norscans, this could barely be heard. One Mammoth rider faltered in confusion and tried in vain to slow its mount down however, the mammoth, already thirsting for blood, simply continued onward.

Unable to see the effects of his orders Olvir blew a second note, this time ordering his Huscarls, armored in the vein of Chaos Warriors of the North, to move forward into the breach. A hundred elite warriors, each the veteran of dozens of battles, marched to the front in a remarkably accurate parody of Southern discipline. Of course, once the fighting started each man would be out for his own glory and honor. Then, a final note, as he called thirteen men of unique ability to him, for he had the feeling he would need them by the battle's end….

Unwatched , the rubble of blown corpses moved as an old, skeletal hand erupted from underneath the bodies of its former acolytes. Moaning slightly from several broken bones, the wizened Verkil allowed himself a moment of rest before casting yet another spell, this one to make him inconspicuous to all but the most observant eyes. Then, confident in his work, the old wizard practically crawled back the ships, for he knew a lost battle when he saw one.

Reeling from the rear, facing renewed thrusts from the front some Norscans looked to the skies for and prayed for relief. And the heavens provided a dark mockery of an answer. From above, a volley of shadowy arrowheads spawned in the air, each bristling with faint steel points. Many who looked to the sky recoiled in fear and turned up their shields while others, faintly shellshocked as a result of the battle, only stared upwards in disbelief. The Bolts came down, and passed through these individuals like strands of vapor harmlessly, while those who believed in the potency of the illusory arrowheads had their shields or skin proliferated by dozens of bolts, their belief bringing an illusion into reality.

As for those who neither saw the arrows initially nor were drawn to it by shouts of warning, they too were left unaffected by the volley. At most, they felt the faintest bit of discomfort that their logical minds struggled to explain. However, the sight of many of their comrades falling, proliferated and bleeding from weaponless wounds, provoked even greater fear among the ranks.

The worst was yet to come.

From the front Kurgan voices began to change, growing deeper, wheezing, guttural. The battlefield began to take on a foul smell independent from death while those corpses already on the ground began to decay rapidly, adding to the rancid odor. Swarms of flies burst from them, adding to the sweeping deluge that was coming from the portal. The plants around the portal, already ill-affected by the saturation of warp magic, rapidly withered and died. The portal glowed and shimmered, as if struggling to contain what was coming. And, at the front, strong warriors of both Kurgan and Norscan stock who had gone a lifetime without knowing illness began to feel spontaneously sick

Only Sayl understood fully what was happening. Hastily, he called out to his lieutenants, sending out orders for them to fall back and then conjured an Ulgu spell that created life-like images of additional warriors. He sent them to the front, to battle Norscans in his Dolgan's stead until the other Northmen had the wit to realize that the hallucinations were not real. The sorcerer had been satisfied, anyhow. Not only did he give the Dolgans the honor of being first through the portal but they had claimed first blood, and proved a good account of themselves. No doubt his prestige would rise even further now.

 _Yes_ he thought to himself _let the Plague Lord have his fun. I claimed all the glory that I wanted._

In thundering footsteps rank by rank, four by four, enormous ogres, their natural resistance to mutation completely overcome by the pox-ridden favours of their foul patron, marched forward. Mutated of limb, infested with sickly tentacles and pox sores and leaking pus, these creatures were scarcely recognizable from the creatures they once were. Even after encountering them numerous times before, Sayl could not fully quell his instinctive disgust nor could he blame those of his own Kurgan from vomiting at the sight.

The ranks parted briefly and from their midst a new figure emerged, this one far larger than those who came before. If the footsteps of Ogres could be compared to thunder this one could be compared to an earthquake, as each step resounded from weight, power and unfulfilled destiny. From the depths of the portal emerged a massive lizard-like behemoth the size of a townhouse, its form bloated and malformed by the blessings of its patron, and mounted by a warlord of such power that his name had shook the other world itself, and would do so again to this one.

Tamurkhan.

The Plaguelord wasted no time with speech, appraisal or sightseeing. He charged. The thunderous beat of marching drum-like steps turned into the quaking crescendo of a rockslide in motion. It crashed through the Dolgan ahead , not bothering to check whether those caught in the path were illusionary or real before bounding with a clap of overhead thunder- once, twice and then with a third leap right into the midst of Norscan ranks.

The Norscan ranks shattered utterly as if a mountain had collapsed right on top of them. Already wary from the fast approaching giants and mammoths to the rear and various magical things thrown at them, the Norscans finally cracked. Many retreated while others howled their death cries and charged forward with suicidal intent, eager to claim their glory at best or just simply to die like a true Norscan should- facing the enemy.

It made no difference to Tamurkhan for the Plague Lord was ascendant here, untouchable. Norscan cleavers and axes clattered harmlessly against Bubebolos' scales and every claw or tail swipe of the dragon claimed a half dozen lives. Annoyed by these ants, Bubebolos added her own fetid breath to the fray, and nearly three dozen Norscans before it melted as if they were wax figurines.

Olvir saw all of this, close as he was now to the front. He had come to claim glory alongside his men as a proper commander would and push the invaders back through the portal. Yet the old Norscan was a veteran of over a hundred battles and knew when one was lost. Involuntarily, his hands clenched around the great ax that he bore, suppressing a sort of seething rage that was directed not at the interlopers, but his own patron.

 _Fate was fickle_ , he thought bitterly. _What was the point of worshipping the god of fortune if more often than not he cursed his own followers? At least the other three were relatively consistent with their blessing; even the Serpent, the god of fanciful whims, showed more commitment to his champions than Tchar!_

Where Tzeentch's favor was nowhere to be found, the Nurgle champion before Olvir practically glowed with the might of his leige. The Norscans unfortunate enough to fight him were beset by stinging insects, wracking coughs and a malaise of limb that left them sluggish and weak. Even Olvir, standing several dozen yards away, could feel his arthritis- an ailment that the old warrior had stubbornly fought at every turn- flare up painfully.

And yet, the Norscan mused, was it not said that the gods looked well upon those who claimed destiny for themselves? Moreover, Nurgal was the chief rival of Tchar- this was known. Perhaps then the Raven God had indeed sent down his blessing, rather than misfortune. If Olvir slew the enemy warlord then he could claim, at the very least, glory for his tribe and, at most, the greatest gift a god could provide.

Gradually, idle musings turned into steel-like determination. He had had a chance to attain glory once before, in Nippon, when his axe blade had driven deep into the side of a truly remarkable warrior, a champion who later Olvir later found out was the heir to the Lord of the Rising Son himself. He had failed to follow-up, and thus failed to attain something greater than the raiding chieftain of a minor tribe.

He would not fail now.

Amidst the cacophony and chaos of men retreating, fighting and dying Olvir blew two final notes. The first was an order to retreat to the boats, an order that he doubted less than half would actually follow, either because they were too panicked to pay attention or they had already resigned themselves to a warrior's death. The second, quitter note was for his thirteen accomplices, for he knew their heightened hearing could pick it up.

Meanwhile the giants and mammoths, after wading through a sea of Norscans, had finally reached the enemy they were actually supposed to fight . The giants came first and their charge breached the Plague Ogre lines in a role reversal of how the Ogres had previously shattered the Norscan lines. The giants were fiercer now than they had been previously, the alcoholic haze rapidly falling away as hate replaced it. Though the giants could not explain the source of their sentiments, the hatred was instinctual, dating back millennia to the time where an ancient civilization of forgotten splendor and elegance had been devoured by the uncouth eastern hordes.

Bubebolos received the charge of the boldest, who sought vainly to knock the dragon on its side. Ogres scattered away from their liege, giving him a wide berth. Tamurkhan's mount held, for though it was four times smaller its weight was several times greater. Then, the mount bit into the giant's leg, her pestilent breath combined with powerful jaws disintegrating the knee in a moment. The giant howled but spitefully brought his fists down onto the dragon's head as he went down.

From the rear, Sayl noted the approach of the Mammoths and sneered. They were pitiful things compared to those owned by his own tribe, smaller, unarmored and far less aggressive. However, they were mammoths all the same and even these pitiful specimens could serve the Dolgan, either as breeding specimens or as part of the warhost.

The only problem was the plague ogres, who after recovering from the charge were tearing into the mammoths with renewed furry. Decayed cleavers had been drawn and the ogres were now chopping at the mammoth's legs as if they were logs or even physically tearing into them in a fit of ravenous hunger. Already Sayl judged one of the mammoths to be past the point where it was worth saving, leaving only two remaining.

Scowling, Sayl called to one of the many lieutenants who loitered behind him. The name was unimportant and indeed Sayl rarely bothered to learn their names anymore, as he usually ensured they were supplanted via subtle means after every few weeks as a precaution against the treacherous. Sayl bade the nameless man to take a pair of scouts and be ready to board the mammoths, as he would use his sorcery to put the great beasts to a deep slumber.

Now to act against the Ogres, for it would jeopardize everything if he were to be seen acting against one of Tamurkhan's prized pets. He was already in trouble enough as it was since the debacle at Ashtair. Sayl glanced at the plaguelord again. Fortunately, it seemed a chance of misdirection was here.

Beneath the enormous toad dragon, the giant stilled, its throat turned into much by Bubebolos's toxic breath . Flush with triumph, the dragon arched its head back and roared before moving, shakily, towards the next giant. Sayl too felt a sort of satisfaction, for the death of the giant had provided him the perfect means of distraction.

Ogres were gluttonous creatures by nature and the plague ogres even more so. Their minds were driven by an unquestionable hunger that defied even the most famished of man, for an ogre's appetite could never be truly satisfied. Doubtless, they were already drooling at the prospect of feasting on the fallen beast after that battle. However, if the giant could be infused with the shadow magic through which illusions were made and had its already pungent aroma magnified ten-fold then..

Yes! The Plague Ogres leapt onto the giant and swiftly began to tear and rip at it, heedless of the rest of the battle. Tamurkhan, too, was heedless of his bodyguard's laxity, intent on slaying another of the giants whose back had been turned as it focused on some unlucky Kurgan. Bubebolos bowled it over and as the giant flailed, pinned by a beast that likely weighed two times more than it, the great toad dragon was languidly tearing into the giant's back and eating strips of flesh. Neither beast nor master seemed to be in a hurry, both seeing as well as Sayl could that the battle had already been won.

Of course Sayl's sight extended further still and he could see fourteen men of above average power and destiny sneak through the lapsed Plague Ogre ranks, intent on the grandest prey of them all.

Sayl turned back the mammoths, confident that the Plaguelord could handle the ambushers and seeing no need to warn Tamurkhan. And if the lord of Nurgle couldn't then….

Sayl shrugged. The Gods favored the strong and the cunning and if Tamurkhan's strength proved inefficient for the task of managing this expedition, then Sayl was confident his cunning could…

It was in that instant that the Skinwolves struck and from all sides clawed hands struck at the tendons behind the Toad Dragon's legs. Bubebolos roared in fury and pain and vainly sought to fight off his attackers yet had no idea where to start. Up above, Tamurkhan cursed and called out to his bodyguards in vain. The dragon wobbled shakily before collapsing and inadvertently crushing a skin wolf who failed to move out of the way.

The ogres were still lost to gluttony however, at that moment, the crash caused on of them to look up. Reason, such as it was, returned to the Brute for the Ogre knew that if his Tyrant died , than the remnants of his tribe would be lost amid a tide of angry northmen. Snarling, the Ogre knocked some of his comrades aside to try to break hunger's hold and when that caused on a couple to stare at him in confusion, he snarled and charged at the wolves.

Bubebolos was down but not out. Its elongated tongue- nearly twenty feet in total length- shot out unexpectedly and wrapped around another Skinwolf's form. Then, before the man-beast could act in any form to tear it off, the tongue retracted dragging the skin wolf screaming to his doom. The rest of the skinwolves continued tearing into the beast's sides, causing it to roil about in pain. They were, at the moment, heedless of the creature that rode on the dragon's back.

Not Olvir. While most Skin Wolves lost themselves to a sort of a bestial haze in battle, losing what sense of rationality or even humanity they possessed once blood started flowing, he was one of the few who had mastered the beast within enough to hone it the way a rider might his steed. He could still lose control of course, and would if the beast within was not satiated, but this the old veteran was aware of and he intended to satiate it on the man above.

The Werewolf crunched close to the ground before leaping up above and tackling the warlord on his throne. The warlord- surprised by the move- used his superior strength to push the werewolf off however, not before Olvir delivered a swipe to the jaw that tore to the bone. Tamurkhan reeled, insensate and Olvir drew the great ax that he had drawn across his back.

Meanwhile, The Plague Ogres –those that had mustered their senses- had reached the skin wolves. Those who had the wit to take their weapons with them- for many had put them down over the course of eating- started bludgeoning and cutting into the Wolf-men, who responded with incredible ferocity of their own. Those who did not remember nevertheless charged and tried tackling the werewolves to the ground, a very dangerous stratagem that opened them up to the full fury of the skin-wolves claws and jaws.

Olvir felt triumph and hope surge within him. This was it, this was his moment! He could feel the attention of the gods themselves upon them. The Chaos Chieftain hefted his great ax high and then, with the air of finality, brought the ax down and in that motion the strands of fate, the strings which had guided him throughout his entire life, were severed.

The Plague Lord's black cleaver rose with the speed of a Nipponese swordmaster and met the great ax head on. The ax shattered on the enhancements of the blade like dreams before reality and, for a crucial moment, Olvir stared in stunned disbelief at the loss. Why had Tchar let him get this far only to abandon him at the last moment?

The duel ended not by blade or claw, but with a physical blow. With his free hand, Tamurkhan swung his massive fist into the Werewolf's skull. Such was the strength of the blow that the skull twisted and Olvir's neck snapped, his body flung unceremoniously from the dragon's back.

* * *

And with that, the saga of the Second Battle of the Frozen Gate was at an end. More Kurgan swarmed from the portal and the remaining Norscans, those who had not already resigned themselves to death, fled to the recently furnished ships. It was for not and many cried out in despair as they realized that only doom awaited them.

Verkil had managed to reach their first and, after ensuring enough Norscans had arrived to fill only three boats, set fire to the rest so as to deny them to the Norscans. That he had also sealed the doom for hundreds of his own kind bothered Verkil not, for in his own mind those warrior's existed only to bring about the ascendancy of their masters and nothing more. They were pawns on a chessboard to be sacrificed when a stronger piece needed to be preserved, and to be cast aside when the game was won.

A few Norscans, despondent and desperate, sought to swim the gulf; a difficult prospect as almost twenty miles separated the two lands. The rest drew their blades and waited for the Kurgan to arrive and then they would meet their fate. At best they would be forcibly folded into the Plaguelord's own ranks while the worst case would see the Sarl enslaved and sacrificed to his fetid god. While the Norscans liked to claim they were closer to the Chaos Gods than any other people on the planet, none particularly desired to meet them. The only third option would be to fight though all knew it would take a truly divine miracle for them to achieve even the most pyrrhic victory at this point.

None came.

* * *

From the dark places of the island, the Shadow Lord watched the intrusion with a mixture of satisfaction and apprehension. His plan to cripple the designs of Tzeentch had worked beyond his wildest intent, for not only had a rival been drawn to the island but Nurgle, Tzeentch's greatest nemesis! Undoubtedly, with the destruction of the Sarl, the fickle Lord of Fate's plans had been set back immeasurably, which in turn would give Be'lakor time to explore and corrupt this new world without being strangled by Tzeentch's labyrinthine schemes .

Yet as day turned to night, and night turned to day, and back into night again and the minions of the Fly Lord still poured through the portal, Be'lakor began to feel that his efforts had exceeded his intent. This was not a force that sacked and pillaged rather it was one that could carve a path of conquest and ruin through whole nations. Subtlety would be impossible with such an army!

It was only when Be'lakor approached- cautiously- the lord of force that he understood just how deep his error was. Tamurkhan the Maggot Lord was not just a powerful warlord aligned to the Fly Lord, he was one of, if not the most powerful singular champion. It was then that the Daemon Prince realized that Nurgle did not intend merely to sample Azeroth's delights; he intended to claim it as his own, the way a plague could claim a life.

The clock was ticking and it was only a matter of time until Azeroth's powers that be discovered the invasion force. The Daemon Prince abandoned his misleading communication with the Kirin Tor and, later that night, abandoned the island itself. He had absorbed more than enough magic from the portal to sustain his form for a month or two, as long as he conserved his use of powers. And besides, Be'lakor had a feeling that the winds of magic would blow like a gale across the planet soon enough.

* * *

The Daemon Prince was not the only one who left the island that second night. Drak'thul had seen it all. When the fighting first started he had conjured an eye of Gul'dan and sent it hundreds of meters over the battle. He had watched as the strange invaders who had brought ruin to what wildlife existed on the island were in turn brought to extinction. These new invaders reeked of a similar malefic magic of those who they were displacing. Yet it was also different, too. It reminded him of sickness and death.

Legion after Legion marched from the portal over the next few days, bringing a different horror each passing hour. From its depth emerged men of every vile description, enormous Ettin-like things covered in dark plate, mighty creatures that reminded him of Elekks and which stood as tall as Gronn, knights in rusted plate, and horrors of gaping mouths and grasping tentacles. It seemed to never end and even now the tide of daemon-tainted horrors was turned into disciplined ranks of Dwarfs who seemed to emanate an even greater malevolence than what came before. They hauled artillery behind them that were kept in restraints and through the Eye of Gul'dan Drak'thul could see them move on their own accord.

The visions left the hermit with more questions than answers. How had the Humans and Dwarfs been corrupted? Why were they invading their own planet from a portal? What other horrors lie beyond the Dimensional Gate?

Drak'thul was certain about only two things.

The first was that if this horde came for his island, they would outmass and cover every inch of it. He would not be able to hide in the shadows as he had in the past and certainly couldn't fight off such a force.

The second was that the powers that be in this world needed to be informed and though Drak'thul loathed leaving his isolation it seemed to be the only option. The old hermit knew this option was nearly as bad as the first, for he had paid no attention to the passing of the world and knew not which powers still ruled, or even the fate of the rest of his people. Even if the orcs did still exist there was a real possibility they would slay Drak'thul on sight, for he was of the hated Stormreaver clan and a disciple of Gul'dan himself!

Still, to the Warlock's knowledge there was no one else left alive who could give the warning.

Thus, with great reluctance, the old orc went beneath his home and untied a hidden rowboat. The old orc sailed into the night of an uncertain world.

* * *

The elation that Tamurkhan felt over his victory was unmercifully short. Many had opted to fight to the death rather than surrender, meaning the Plague Host had fewer sacrifices to give to Nurgle after the battle. But that had only be the precipice of this land's terrible surprises and Tamurkhan had fallen into what seemed to be endless misfortune.

Each new disappointing development brought the Khagan further into despair and rage. The discovery of the scuttled ships, the unsuccessful attempts of the foragers to discover food, the very whiff of Tzeentch upon the air, the god whom Tamurkhan's most despised brother served; all of these events caused the great warlord to froth. Even in another body the Plague Lord would have difficulty mastering it however since he had possessed the ogre tyrant's body he had found keeping self-control more difficult.

Upon the realization of this dearth of materials Tamurkhan fell into a black rage, for once again his dreams had been denied by events beyond his control. Soon other tribes, even those who too were the scions of Nurgle, began to fear to interact with him, as Tamurkhan was well known for his tendency to slay the bearers of bad news. Indeed his pavilion reeked for the stench of death…or at least it seemed more potent than usual. It was said even his own bodyguards ultimately feared their master's presence and instead stood guard outside rather than in.

The Horde fell into tension and minor skirmishes broke out among the various divisions. These fights were mere preludes of what was to come, for the corpses of the Norscans would eventually be depleted and hunger would set in. If events did not change soon Tamurkhan's army would fall, not through the skill of their enemies or the magic of the divine, but by the limits of their own stomachs. Tamurkhan began to alternatively beseech and curse the heavens, praying and demanding salvation in equal measure.

Salvation came, though not from the heavens but rather from beings Tamurkhan looked down upon, figuratively and literally.

It was Drazhoath, Lord of the Black Fortress, who came up with the solution. On the day when Tamurkhan's rage was the blackest in he strode, circled protectively by three Ironsworn bodyguards. As Tamurkhan's massive frame rose wrathfully from his throne the Chaos Dwarf spoke as calmly and confidently as he would any other dark business dealing. The Chaos Dwarf spoke not of issues, in contrast to the messengers that even now rotted on the floor. Before the man-ogre four times his size Drazhoath stood and calmly detailed his salvation.

"Millennia ago, the Father of Darkness gave us dominion over the earth in the way our false kin could never achieve. The lava that runs in our- and this- world's veins is ours to command as we see fit. Just as we command it to immolate the unworthy, so too can it be commanded to cool and harden into new land. Through such mastery the world changes to fit our need. More of it comes to look like the Dark Lands every passing year. "

Drazhoath peered directly into Tamurkhan's hateful yet now contemplative eyes.

"Give me what I need and within two weeks I will build a bridge that will join this island with the mainland. "

The Khagan considered, but only briefly

"You have my attention, Dwarf. Tell me then, and if you speak truth you shall have my favor. "

Tamurkhan left what would happen if the Dwarf spoke falsehood unsaid.

Drazhoath grinned

"Slaves and sacrifices, well beyond our apportioned amount. Every man and women of the army we defeated. With them I can empower the necessary ritual. "

Tamurkhan nodded to himself, albeit reluctantly. It was unfortunate that he would have to give yet more slaves to the Chaos Dwarfs, for they had already greedily seized more than twice any other single grouping, but if it was for a purpose rather than simple avarice-

"And I want my spoils of the campaign quadrupled. "

Upset after days of continuous bad news, frustrated by events beyond his control, now aggravated by his 'ally's' presumption, the Khagan erupted. He drew his sword and in a flash brought it down on the insolent little imp. An Ironsworn deftly swept in front of the blade with his own Hellglaive, catching it a mere foot above Drazhoath's impassive face. However, not for nothing was Tamurkhan regarded as one of the most powerful champions of the entire Wastes. With a second roar that brought his own bodyguards into the pavilion the Nurgle lord cleaved through the Hellglaive and then, with another blow, carved open the Dwarf bodyguard's carapace.

Miraculously the dwarf still managed to stand silently, one hand closed over his opened stomach to prevent entrails from falling out, the other drawing a backup sword. And beyond it all Drazhoath impassively stood, his beady eyes only slightly registering the blades of over a dozen bodyguards drawn on him and his.

Tamurkhan shouted

"You think you can make grasping demands of me?! I've put a thousand of your kin in the ground over my lifetime! A top the bones of a thousand more I helped my father nearly end the malignant tumor of a nation you call an empire in the Dawn years. So kneel- or bow, given your height- and leave if you want to take another fetid breath!"

Drazhaoth stood silent once more, his eyes never leaving Tamurkhan's hate filled face. Mentally, the wheels turned as Tamurkhan confirmed a theory long believed by Zharr scholars and all but confirmed his parentage. When he returned to the Black Fortress, he would personally ensure that Tamurkhan's entry would go in the Zharr-kron, the Record of Fire which held the worst offenders of the Chaos Dwarf race. But that was later. Now was the time for business.

"You and your slaves can kill me, Plague Lord. Will kill me, though I and my bodyguards will make you all bleed first. But in the end only you will suffer, regardless of just _how_ you kill me. Your horde will starve, your worshippers will abandon you, and your god will curse you. Glory and destiny will be denied to you both here and on our world. If by some act of the divine you make it out of the ruins of your army you will be a hunted man for the rest of your days, for I *know* my god is watching and, believe me Plaguelord, he is more unforgiving and cruel than you can possibly fathom. So" at this, the Dwarf calmly looked the Plaguelord dead in the eyes "slay me if you dare. Kill me and damn yourself!"

For a moment it seemed the Plaguelord will do just that. His sword bladed twitched, voluntarily inching towards the Dwarf. Yet, deep within the recesses of Tamurkhan's mind, logic and dreams of glory revolted against his rage. Struggle ensured but eventually the Plaguelord's desire for destiny wore out, though silently he vowed revenge for this affront when the expedition was over.

"I agree to your demands , Ash-Dwarf, and expect you to carry it out immediately. Fail to do so and I will feed you screaming to your own hell machines. "

Hatefully, the Plague Orge Chieftain turned away, not desiring to speak to the loathsome creature any further.

Unfortunately, that wish was not shared by the Chaos Dwarf.

"You will do more than accede to my demand for increased spoils. You will make amends for your insults to my kind, for your threats, and pay for the cost of training the bodyguard that you slew by offering the required gold and slaves. "

Tamurkhan turned in utter confusion to that last statement; he did not kill anybody here-

*BANG*

Tamurkhan blinked as the wounded bodyguard crashed to the floor silently, his skull broken and hollowed out from the point blank pistol shot from his erstwhile master. The pistol still smoked as Drazhoath put it back in his hostler. The Chaos Dwarf Lord eyed Tamurkhan's confusion and explained readily

"No use holding onto damaged goods. He was a shoddy guard, a proper dwarf of his ilk would not have had his weapon snapped in two so easily. "

* * *

With the deal 'negotiated', albeit, at Tamurkhan's great displeasure, the Chaos Dwarf was obliged to honor the bargain. In the dark of night he assembled his underlings into a specific formation, with eight apprentice Daemonsmiths surrounding four proper Daemonsmiths who in turn gathered and channeled their energy into Drazhoath. Outside the circle expressionless infernal guardians dragged screaming slaves and cast them down pits of molten brass and iron. It was a brutal, slow death, for the bodies did not sink as other cultures erroneously depicted but floated and burned on the top of it. Many tried to climb out, only for the silent guardians to poke them back down their staves.

Drazhoath and his cabal began to chant sonorous words of power that echoed across the island, many of them echoes of what was spoken so long ago, when the first Sorcerer-Prophet had made his pivotal oath. Slowly, the lava began to rise from the sea floor, first in small quantities and then in rushing geysers. The elements of the earth screamed in torment as they were elevated upwards while those of fire roared in fury at their forced servitude. Their cries would echo as far as the Maelstrom itself, where concerned mortal Shaman fretted and puzzled about the source of this new disturbance.

The Chaos Dwarfs were unaware of the pain they were causing these sentient entities, nor would they have cared if they were. Profit mattered, glory matter, oaths mattered, in that order. As the four and one worked to bring up the lava, the apprentice Daemonsmiths used secret techniques of the forge to cool and harden it. The next day the Dwarfs watched in pleasure as Tamurkhan's apple-sized eyes widened in visible astonishment.

Whatever skepticism and resentment the Chaos Warlord had, it disappeared that night. With new gusto, Tamurkhan ordered all the Norscan slaves to be bound and sacrificed to fuel Drazhoath's ritual, save only those who had already embraced Nurgle. Many more doubtless would have if given the choice between conversion and immolation however Tamurkhan needed his sacrifices more than he needed troops and the choice was not offered. Many tried to escape or fight when their fates became clear, but none succeeded.

However, unbeknownst to Tamurkhan, Drazhoath had run into a snag. Magic, or at least of the sorts he could use, was still scarce on this world and pulling it from the portal itself required phenomenal amounts of energy, far more than earlier calculations indicated. Worse, the land itself was resisting the Dwarf's machinations and required extra effort to subdue, though the Dwarf remained still unaware to their sentience. This meant more sacrifices or greater effort required on the part of the Chaos Dwarfs and, after having to elevate two novice Daemonsmiths to apprentices after having their predecessors turn to stone through uncontrolled magics, Drazhoath reluctantly conceded the former was going to be required. Or, in other words, they needed more sacrifices than there were Norscans.

Another tense meeting followed with Tamurkhan, in which insults were exchanged and accusations made. Yet the Maggot Lord could not deny the Drazhoath's progress, for now a land bridge halfway crossed the channel, albeit a narrow one, only a hundred meters wide. Another option other than the Dwarfs had not been found and, with some unwillingness, Tamurkhan conceded to the Dwarf's needs with only some negotiated reductions to his apportioned amount of loot, as well as agreeing to send some of his Hobgoblins to the pits.

The problem of course was choosing which to sacrifice. At first the solution was simple enough and Tamurkhan demanded all his subjects, Nurglite and non-Nurglite alike determine and hand over their weakest and dullest. This order was carried out with little issue, for every Chaos Tribe fancied themselves strong and despised their weakest link. If not for sacrifice than such cursed individuals usually found themselves marked for torture, derision, murder and even food, for the lean times.

The problem came when those individuals were exhausted, as the great Khagan was forced to consider the political ramifications of who was to be sacrificed next. To sacrifice more of Nurgle might very well to invite his own patrons wrath, but to show discrimination towards the non-Nurglite portions of his army would simply cause undue distrust and perhaps even to defection to the rogue factions that were even now forming within his army. Tamurkhan desired above all else to throw Sayl's Dolgan to the pyres, for the Plague Lord saw the same treacherous traits his most hated brother carried in the Sayl chieftain and suspected (correctly) that the Dolgan were responsible for much of the disruption that occurred in their camp.

Yet to move against the Mammoth Riders would be to invoke the open hostility of the third most powerful segment of his army, behind only the Maggot Lord's own and the Chaos Dwarfs. Worse, Sayl was a sorcerer of renowned and subtle skill who could no doubt cause all sorts of havoc to the Dawi Zharr's ritual if he wanted. In fact, Tamurkhan was surprised he hadn't already.

Instead Tamurkhan settled for sapping the strength of those he knew were allied with the Dolgan, as a means to show that internal disunity would not be tolerated. Unfortunately for him, Sayl quickly discovered the Maggot Lord's intent and applied his own sort of mischief, glamoring and redirecting the plague lord's emissaries one day to some of the non-aligned who were considering a more permanent fealty to the Maggot Lord. Upset but forced to comply with the demands, these tribes began to nurse a grudge. Meanwhile others, fearful they would be next to be sacrificed to the Chaos Dwarfs, fled and deserted through the portal

With a steady flood of slaves arriving, Drazhoath pushed his sorcerers to the fullest extent of their limits, then beyond, for the Chaos Dwarf had promised a two week deadline and vowed to deliver on that deadline. Another four apprentice Daemonsmiths perished, some recently promoted others on the verge of further advancement. One even turned into a stone statue fully, his eyes staring in unblinking agony towards eternity. Infernal Guardsmen put the lad out of his misery by toppling him in the lava pit.

Drazhoath cared not for their deaths, so long as they could perform the task, and when one of his veteran Daemonsmiths suggested slowing down to save costs on training new apprentices he was thrown bodily into a pit, a sacrifice that provided far more fuel than a normal slave. After that, the Daemonsmiths bore their discontent in hateful silence, though by the end of it all of them had acquired more stone on their bodies, for that was the price each and every Dwarf sorcerer had to pay for making a magical mistake.

In the end, the price paid was worth it, at least for the exhausted Drazhoath, for they had achieved their land bridge with a mere hour to spare. Gleefully, Tamurkhan amassed his troops and crossed the land bridge the next day, pleased that it was sturdy and elevated smoothly over time, so that it breached the cliffs beyond without issue. Such was the size of his army and allied contingents, for his force numbered in the tens of thousands still, that it took nearly a day to march them all across, save for a small contingent the Chaos Dwarfs left to maintain a way-base near the portal.

Never had these isles seen so many amassed in one single location, not even in the War of the Ancients, where millions of daemons had assaulted across the breadth of the world. The verdant forests of Suramar, trees that had not known corruption in ten thousand years, began to swiftly wither and die from the pure mass of diseased bodies traveling beneath them. Even those that could withstand the plague, for a time, were run down by the mammoth backed allied hordes or Chaos Dwarf machinery, armies that followed Tamurkhan's personal force at a respectable distance.

While many among the Nurglites exalted and celebrated the decay of a new world, Tamurkhan only had eyes for the purple dome in the distance. Visions had directed him to the portal and standing prominent in those visions was the city that lied beneath the dome, a metropolis unlike any he had ever seen. Tamurkhan had seen other visions too, of enormous forests and changing beasts and a tree that breached the sky, but, at the time, the city seemed to stand prominent above all other visions. This left the Plaguelord with no doubt that if he were to conquer it and raze it in the honor of Nurgle than his long sought goal –daemonhood- would, at last, come to fruition.

Such was the Plaguelord's burning desire, for he had pursued this goal across a thousand lifetimes, which he did not stop to make camp and instead fore-marched his horde through the night. Yet this was not solely motivated by impatience. Tamurkhan knew that if the enemy had scouts or sorcerers than they would likely be aware of his approach . The faster his force moved, the less time the enemy had to prepare.

Finally, after marching day and night, the exhausted horde reached the purple dome . The sorcerers among the Chaos Host- even the self-assured Sayl and the jaded Drazhoath- struggled to suppress their awe at the sight. Though smaller magical shields existed neither they nor Tamurkhan had ever seen an entire city-state encompassed within such protection. Though neither had had the time to explore the magics of this world, busy with their own rituals and schemes, both recognized the unique pinkish hue of this world's sorcery in the dome-shield. Moreover, it tasted…ancient, older than anything either had encountered. Though his mind rebelled at the thought, Drazhoath thought it might even be older than Zharr Nagrund itself, though he was careful not to mention this in front of the other Daemonsmiths.

Then the predictable order came and, with visible anticipation, Drazhoath ordered the his forces to set up the siege engines along a ridge overlooking the dome. Hellcannons, Dreadquake mortars and Deathshrieker rockets were lined together by the Dwarf artillerists and, in a triumphant salvo, fired upon the protective dome. In thunderous volleys scores of projectiles cracked against the shield, daemon-infused projectiles unleashing the magic of the warp itself. At points along its surface the shield seemed to flare a lighter strain of pink, as if slightly strained, but nevertheless the shield stood.

Incensed, Drazhoath ordered more volleys unleashed and at times would join in the barrage himself, mustering bolts of lava and ash against it. From time to time pink spots would flare yet always disappear back into opaque purple within moments. Trying a different tactic, the Dwarf ordered all his cannons and artillery to fire directly on a single point. The explosion that followed would have damaged even the legendary Grand Bastion of Cathay and here it too met some success, with the shield briefly, very briefly turning a shade of dull pink. Fleetingly, outlines of buildings could be seen behind it.

The Chaos Dwarfs could not load and fire fast enough to take advantage of such an explosion before the shield would repair itself, for their weapons compensated power for reload time. Many Nurglites began to jeer at the Chaos Dwarfs, for the frayed relations between the Dwarfs and their lord was well known. Tamurkhan himself stood silent and motionless on his dragon mount, but the Maggot Lord's silent mockery could be felt by all within his gaze. Drazhoath himself was red with rage and shame and knew that if he did not find a way to take down this fortification, after boasting that he could, he would be obligated to join the Infernal Guard in their silent death march.

Perhaps it was Hashut himself that intervened, for in that moment a Bull Taurus descended from the heavens. Its rider, the lesser novice Daemonsmith Drazhoath had delegated to watch over the portal way-station, was near exhaustion when he dismounted. He opened his mouth to speak of what happened but Drazhoath had patience for none of that, for it was readily apparent that the Daemonsmith had received an invasion from the other side of the portal, lost and then came here to warn the main force. Drazhoath instead brusquely asked who was the invader, to which the other Chaos Dwarf spoke of a force of Khornates.

The Lord of the Black Forest then gave the younger Daemonsmith an option; have the mask of Hashut's grace seared upon his face and take up a position in the Infernal Guard, or die as a sacrifice to the Bull Lord.

When Drazhoath relayed the news, Tamurkhan took it with a fury, for the disappointment he had experienced this day was truly hard to quantity. However, there would be reckoning for the sons of Zharr another day; he would not see the glory of taking the Dome-City fall to another. And so Tamurkhan once again force marched his exhausted troops through the night. A few of his minor warlords, chafing under Tamurkhan's command and desiring to achieve their own glory, twice broke from the camp in the night with their measly forces, hoping to be beneath the Plague Lord's notice.

They weren't and moreover the Maggot Lord understood that were he to allow this treachery, more would desert. He ordered Khazyk the Befouler's knights to hunt them down which they did with extreme prejudice. Those who survived had only a horrible execution to look forward too.

On an early dawn Tamurkhan reached the cliffs by the land bridge and espying the enemy army in the distance, ordered the Chaos Dwarfs to take up position on the cliffs surrounding the bridge with ranks of artillery in the rear and riflemen up front. He put his own elite guard at the front so that the enemy force would be stymied on the bridge's peninsula, crushed between the anvil of his Nurglite champions and the withering hammer of the Chaos Dwarf projectiles. It would be a massacre and, having commanded such battles before, Tamurkhan doubted he would suffer too many losses.

Then Tamurkhan glimpsed the standards held aloft above the Khornate army. He froze mid-motion. His mouth went dry, an uncanny feat given that he often drooled phlegm. Hate boiled inside him and the old warlord saw red for he had not seen those standards in over a thousand and had hoped to never, ever again. Then hate and rage simmered into maliciousness and cruel intent, for that only made the incoming slaughter of the enemy force a hundred times more satisfying. Every advantage was his- not even the enemy warlord, despite his admitted brilliance, could turn this battle around.

As Tamurkhan opened his mouth to give the order for the Chaos Dwarfs to fire, he collapsed in agony, nearly falling off of his plague dragon saddle. His eyes rolled back and suddenly, Tamurkhan was no longer standing on a land bridge before an enemy army, but in front of Drazhoath, clutching his hand in a hateful bargain. He was his father, vowing before the altar to dedicate a son to each of the gods in exchange for glory. He was a man cowled in black standing before a whirling gate infinitely larger than this one muttering dark promises of damnation to a listening void.

Those were just the visions he recognized, and for a few moments the plaguelord muttered, uncomprehending, before revelation hit him. These were pacts and bargain, but what did that have to do with-

The scene shifted, this time turning into an opulent thrown room where a dark armored figure with glowing green eyes plotted with a golden armored elf of Ulthuan. Tamurkhan shook his head in disbelief – even he knew of the hatred the two breeds of elves had for each other and he had never traveled to either of their lands. Other visions ran in rapid succession showing ratmen plotting with greenskins, the lords of different gods coordinating with one another and more, until at last Tamurkhan could see the theme.

The visions ended and Tamurkhan stood up on his throne once more. Hatefully, yet obediently, he gave the order to stand down and then rode, alone, towards the enemy army. The Khornate forces looked at him with distrust and loathing yet it seemed they also had orders to hold back. Then from the midst of their ranks a single figure also rode forward, this one mounted on a vast monstrosity of brass and blood. Slowly, reluctantly, the two approached one another.

They halted a dozen meters from each other, each staring at the other as if glares alone could slay. Then, slowly, the other warlord dismounted, a courtesy Tamurkhan reluctantly obliged. The two marched to one another, each never taking their eyes off the other. Where Tamurkhan had once been forced to physically look up to other warlord, long ago in the yurts of a forgotten empire, now he towered twice the other man's height. However, such was the physique of the Khornate champion that Tamurkhan had no doubt his enemy could overpower the Ogre form, if he so willed it.

They halted within mere feet from each other. For long moments the battlefield was silent, even among the braying beasts and howling Skaramor, as each waited to see what would happen.

Finally, the Champion of Khorne spoke, his voice hard and steel-like where Tamurkhan's was nasal and full of phlegm. Tamurkhan could almost taste the suppressed hate and rage inside it and wryly reflected this meeting might be even more difficult for him than it was for the Plaguelord.

"How long has it been….Brother?"

* * *

Inside the Dome-city, Suramar, the assault of the Chaos Dwarfs, such as it was, had not gone unnoticed. Many of the citizenry close to the portal had reacted in curiosity to the changes in color along the portal's edges, and though they did not see the army behind the opaque barrier they brought their concerns to Telemancers who in turn viewed the anomalies with curiosity. None guessed that the cause that lay behind the fluctuations was an enemy army, for the overwhelming majority of the city believed the Azeroth had fallen to daemons over ten thousand years ago and that, by the grace of Elisandre, their city alone survived, floating amongst the Void. Those who thought otherwise were considered madmen and lunatics.

Only Elisandre knew the truth. The world had not died from the Burning Legion and that, somehow, the rag-tag Kaldorei Resistance had managed to repel the invaders. For a time she had even considered lowering the shield and allowing the survivors of Suramar to reclaim the glory of the Old Empire.

Then she had used the Eye of Aman'thul to peer into the future. Vision after vision of absolute horror shook her mind

She had seen a fallen army in a foreign city. Bodies covered in steel and iron littered the streets and alleyways as mourners surrounded many of the individual fallen, identifying names and beseeching the heavens for salvation. For a moment, their prayers were answered and the bodies rose, but this was a twisted mockery of salvation, the light from their eyes were gone, replaced by a feral hunger and an alien will. The cries of elation turned into desperate pleading as the risen corpses descended to devour their friends and family.

She had seen the Legion return, stronger than ever, carried on ships that sailed through the sky with an ease that would put the fairest gondala to shame.A hundred daemons charged the field for every one defender arrayed against them. Azeroth was consumed in hellfire as, above it all, a towering colossus the size of the world itself loomed.

She had seen creatures rise from the depths, faceless horrors that resembled creatures out of the oldest myths. Each of them laughed hysterically and drove all who heard their whispers to madness. Like ants from a hive the insectoid Aqir rose from the tunnels below the planet to descend en mass upon the squatters that now inhabited their ancestral empire. The return of the Black Empire was marked by swarms that could cover the surface area of entire provinces like locusts. All who stood against them were consumed.

She received more visions, of strange otherworld invasions, of Chrono-disruptions and of battling concepts made manifest. In the final vision she saw the very faintest glimpses of the enormous leviathans that occupied the void between stars, immense monstrosities whose size dwarfed the colossus earlier the way plankton was overshadowed by a Cetacean. With mouths that seemed to stretch the celestial sky these leviathans lurked poised over Azeroth like predator fish of the deep sea. Her poise and discipline had collapsed and she wept as she beheld the lords of the dark, for how could anyone hope to stand against such monsters?

She had never deigned to use the Eye to see that far in the future again. Nor did she consider opening the shield again. Elisande vowed to let her people pass away the ages of the world in luxurious contentment, the privileged few who would only know horror at the very end and not before.

Still she had at times indulged her curiosity on the state of the world and could not help be impressed by what the mortal races of it had achieved since the raising of the shield. Yet in her visions she was certain that it would all be for naught in the end.

When reports reached her of dome fluctuations, she dismissed her court and retreated to her private chambers where, to her surprise, she discovered that there was indeed an army on the outskirts of her province- two of them in fact. They seemed…human-like, though visibly corrupted in a strange new manner that was at odds with the fel-green Legion corruption. Visible artillery could be found in one of the armies, and she was able to quickly guess that had recently been used on her city.

But why did they come here, what powers guided them here?

As she mused from her panoramic vision a third army began to exit the portal.

* * *

Codex: Sons of the Khagan

Long ago, before the raising of the Great Bastion of Cathay, or even the rise of hammer-handed Sigmar in the verdant lands of the Reik, a vast empire ruled the Eastern Steppes. It was a domain so large that it is said that the entirety of both Cathay and the Empire could fit comfortably within its borders. This empire of the steppes was ruled over by the legendary Great Kurgan, who commanded numberless armies of snarling beasts, swift horse-riding legions and terrible sorcery. Boastful legends told around campfires tell of his matchless ability on the battlefield while the annals of the Chaos Dwarfs speak hatefully of his accomplishments and gleefully about the Great Kurgan's only real failure at the outskirts of Zharr Nagrund.

Though this grand warlord took hundreds of wives, he fathered only four sons. In his greed for further conquest he pledged each of them, unknowingly, to the Chaos Gods in exchange for power and warriors. These sons grew up and took part in their father's conquest, becoming rivals to one another in prestige an d their father's favor. Together, the father and sons extended the Kurgan Empire to its greatest extent and, after a massive victory against the terrible Tong half-daemons in the fields of Kajur, eliminated the last major regional threat to his domain.

Yet every debt has its due. As the steppe-army of the empire celebrated in triumph the servants of the gods came down from the North to take what had been promised of them. Each god claimed a single son who, in turn, each represented a single trait that made their father great. In time, these sons would be molded to the desires of their new patrons and achieve great and terrible deeds across the planet. Their father would not share in this glory. Bereft of his sons, the empire of the Great Kurgan was bereft of its future. In less than two years, the empire fell to pieces between bickering warlords. Eventually the Great Kurgan himself would fall, though none that know of that final battle dare speak of his fate.

In the days before the Dark Gods had seized the four brothers as their own, they had served as instruments of their father's will. Each sought to acquire his favor, so that they alone could claim the Kurgan empire upon their father's death. To such an end the four brothers had boldly sought to expand to the limits of a given direction, so that one day it would encompass the entire world.

 **Tamurkhan, the Maggot Lord**

Tamurkhan had claimed the West as his dominion. Steppe scouts sent in that direction reported enormous forests that stretched horizon to horizon punctuated by verdant fields that would serve as fuel for the steppe legions. Though beastkin and primitive tribes dotted the interior, the real threat lay in the mountains with the ever familiar Dwarfs and along the coasts, where a strange new, vaguely humanoid race held a naval mastery. There was challenge and glory to be had and in those days it was Tamurkhan's greatest aspiration to claim it. Alas, destiny struck before the plans could be put into fruition.

Each of the four brothers had embodied a single trait of what made their father truly great and for Tamurkhan, that aspect was perseverance. While not as charismatic as his youngest brother, martially inclined as his oldest nor mystically powerful as his closest rival, Tamurkhan possessed a drive that could not be matched. This perseverance came to transcend his physical form, for Nurgle himself admired it and when Tamurkhan was first struck down at the hands of a nameless warlord in the Chaos Wastes he did not die. Instead, his form burst apart and a maggot the size of a hound broke from his chest cavity to violently possess the body of his slayer. The Maggot Lord has lived a thousand lives since.

In terms of troop composition, it is said that the Maggot Lord's forces came to outnumber those of any of his brothers. Such was the nature of Nurgle, who drew all in with his epidemics and offered succor to those who dedicated everything they had to him. Not all these desperate individuals were men as many beasts and ogres could be found among the ranks of the Nurglites. Yet not all belonged to the Plague Lord and in fact Tamurkhan had many allies among non-aligned tribes who were loyal to the prospect of glory and greed rather than the expedition's leader himself. Standing prominent among these allies were the Dolgan tribe led by Sayl the Faithless and a contingent of covetous Chaos Dwarfs led by Drazhoath the Ashen.

 **KoblaKhan, the Luxurious Reaver**

Koblakhan had looked at the West- with its endless fields and boring forests- with scorn, for these were the days before civilization took root in those lands. This was not the case in the East, where the ancestors of modern Cathay had already settled along the riverbanks of their lands and were even then were organizing themselves into small city-states. Koblakhan was fascinated by the burgeoning decadence of those lands, for his scouts had reported that their proto-lieges lived in palaces of grand opulence that well exceeded those in the Kurgan empire, despite the astronomical size difference between the two. There was a perverse decadence about these people that Koblakhan, even in the days before he was claimed by the Dark Prince, desired to toy with. Later, after his corruption, the interests of Koblakhan fell further east still, for the eyes of Slaanesh were ever-fixed on the children of Ulthuan, wayward or not.

Even in the days of the Old Empire, Koblakhan was considered a magnetic individual and warriors flocked to his banner in impossibly large numbers leading to his army dwarfing those of any other warlord in those times with the sole exception of his father. Koblakhan was charismatic to an impossible extent and even the most treacherous and self-serving lords of the Kurgan court felt obligated to agree to the young scion's demands whenever Koblakhan was in person to argue for them. It is whispered around some campfires that even the mighty Great Kurgan himself came close to designating Koblakhan as his official heir, such was the boy's charm, and it took all the legendary willpower of that lord to restrain himself from doing so. This charisma has only been heightened by the blessings of Slaanesh, who added a dark element to it.

The army of Koblakhan is numerically the second largest of all the brothers, dwarfed only by Tamurkhan, for not even charisma was as infectious as the plague. While composed of many steppe tribes like his Nurglite brother, Koblakhan has also used his charisma to the widest possible benefit and incorporated many unique nations of the east. The most prominent of them is the Dreaded Wo, led by Lei Lěngkù, a Chaos Tribe just outside the Grand Bastion that fights and organizes in a very similar manner to their southern neighbors. Other notable groupings included the corrupted temple of the Aesthetic Form, renegade bands of swordsmen from a distant island seeking to perfect their craft, an oddly loyal minor Khan of the Hobgoblins and a small Druichi coven, led by Koblakhan's second in command, Togret Netherripper.

 **Omedakhan, the Reaping King**

Omedakhan claimed the North would hold his destiny, goaded by the prospect of challenging the spawn of the gods themselves for martial supremacy. It was said that even the Great Kurgan himself had been shocked by his son's proclamation, for no Chaos tribe had dared expand northward since the First Tong himself during the days of the first Cataclysm, and all present were aware of _that_ warlord's eventual fate. Yet none could deter the oldest son and, indeed, his other brothers actually supported Omedakhan in this endeavor, reasoning that he would meet a violent doom in the process. With visible reluctance the Great Kurgan eventually gave his eldest son leave to do so though the kidnapping of the four sons in the aftermath of Kajur put a stop to those plans…for a time.

Omedakhan had always been the most violent of the brothers and could invariably be found at the front of every battle. However, it would be a mistake to think of him as a typical northern berserker, for Omedakhan's tactical acumen is unmatched among the sons and the element he inherited from his father. Even in battle, leading those inclined to fall into blood rage upon sight of the enemy, Omedakhan has shown a disturbing tendency to carry out his will and plans.

Though Omedakhan leads the smallest army of the four brothers only a fool would dare say he is the weakest. Every warrior within Omedakhan's horde is a hardened killer and a veteran of a dozen battles, a warrior unafraid of the most dangerous places the world has ever seen. The Khagan's campgrounds can surely fall in that latter category, for a large reason why Omedakhan's forces are so few is their violent manner of solving internal squabbles. Among the legendary killers, butchers and murders that lurk among the army is the dread Ogre Trad Gutsmuncher, the notorious Erengard Slasher and the renegade Druichi cultist Cathose Ragebreak, who sees no true difference between Khaine and Khorne. Of course Omedakhan has deadlier forces than rogue individuals and amidst the army are the daughters of Valkia, the fearsome Skaramor and the contradictory Blood Fathers, sorcerers who skirt Khorne's rules against magic by solely using their abilities to bring daemons into the field.

 **Subotakhan, the Twisted Contriver**

From an early age, Subotakhan showed incredible sorcerous talent that often manifested itself in visions of the future. These were gifts deployed maliciously, as tools for Subotakhan to elevate himself over his brothers. From afar Subotakhan would pull the strings, and his brothers would stumble or quarrel violently amongst each other. Eventually, they all realized the deception, and came to hate the Tzeentch worshipping brother above all others. This would come to fruition after the abduction at Kajur and many years following the collapse of their father's empire.

Initially, Subotakhan had chosen to advance south, based on a contradictory vision in which he asked a two-headed daemon for guidance only to be told 'North" and "South" by each head with a unknown jungle shown in a further vision. Rationalizing that the first head was lying, as to advance on the god realm would be suicide, Subotakhan first sought to advance towards the south, only to be brutally repelled by the unyielding Mountains of Mourn and the endless wasteland of the Chaos Dwarfs. Reluctantly, Subotakhan turned to the North, which his oldest brother had already claimed…

Omedakhan did not yield his claims lightly and a thousand running battles were fought across the scope of the Northern Wastes for supremacy. Omedakhan won almost every battle yet was invariably outmaneuvered at every turn, for Subotakhan had inherited his father's strategy and vision, and many a battlefield loss was reversed by cunning stratagems outside of it. Eventually, despite taking a tally in skulls many times greater than his younger brother, Omedakhan was on the verge of defeat. Only the intervention of the other two brothers, who had their own reasons for hating and foiling Subotakhan, stopped the Tzeentch mastermind from taking total victory. Even the most cunning plans could not account for the three brothers working in concert, if a hateful distrustful one. Together, they pushed the Tzeentch-aligned brother to the very edge of the north gate and then, in an act they believed would dam him to eternal torment, they drove him and his meager remaining forces through it.

Yet Subotakhan did not die and instead emerged at the Southern gate, having traversed the paths between worlds. When Subotakhan eventually discovered the Southland jungles, he realized to his astonishment that neither head had lied to him, and that he had in fact needed to go north to arrive in the south. Moreover even his defeat worked in his favor, for now he could gather a mighty host without competition from his brothers.

Subotakhan is unique among the brothers in that his force is not predominately made up of humans but, rather, Beastmen. However, these are not the Beastmen of the North, with their braying hordes and ineffectual destiny, but mightier creatures of the South, ranging from the twisted half-daemonkin that roam over the Southern Wastes to the remarkably intelligent Southland Beastmen. The humans that form his expedition are few but notable, such as the exiled cabal of Lanka, the reavers of the Southern ocean and a tribe of terrible leopard-men, so named by their transformations in which they assume the form of a man-eating feline.

* * *

AN: These are the champions of Chaos who will define the next volume. With that said, I wanted to put it to a vote. While I plan on focusing Tamurkhan first (as his army list is already finished in canon) I need time to do research and conceptualize the army list of the other brothers. **So what I am asking my readers is what should be the second army featured?**

Though Suramar will take prominent point in the future, for now none of the brothers can penetrate its shields. Instead, they pursue the secondary visions each of their gods gave them.

For Tamurkhan it is the forested lands of Val'shara, where his attempts to corrupt those lands are bitterly contested by the Elves who live there. This campaign will feature Tamurkhan and his forces going against various Druid Covens, The Cenarion Order, the Wild Gods, and, ultimately, a sentinel army led by the leaders of the Kaldorei.

For Omedakhan he is drawn to the Highmountain mountain range, where the Tauren and Drogbar of this province try to halt him. There is a mystical artifact of immense power there, one capable of leveling a mountainside with a single swing, and Khorne would have him claim it.

Subotakhan is drawn to the province of Azsuna, for much magic permeates the province that his master Tzeentch is gluttonous for. The varied, but unorganized denizens of this province try to oppose him however the greatest threat to Subotakhan's expedition might not come from the surface, but from the watching depths. Features Wardens, Demon Hunters, the Ghosts of Azsuna, Blue Dragons, and a certain underwater civilization.

Finally, Koblakhan Is drawn to Stormheim, for Slaanesh, annoyed at being denied the Elven souls of Suramar, is enticed by the damned souls of the province. However, the Vyrkul are mobilizing and though his army outnumbers theirs, they do have a natural choke point that Koblakhan must cross. Features Vyrkul, Stormheim Dragons, Helya and Odyn's factions.

* * *

 **Reviews**  
Once again, thank you all for the reviews! Unfortunately, I do have good and bad news. Starting first with the bad news my next update- for either this or Twin Legions, will be late November at the earliest and very likely December. The reason is that I have a secondary story for another group that I am trying to finally finish this month.

The good news is that I haven't abandoned the story and am already halfway through the next short story and Chronicles. I am excited with where to go from here and I already have received great ideas from certain commenters and have almost finished a book full of inspiration for units from diverse lands. Moreover, once I am finished with the other commitment I will have much more time to work on this!

 **Wom1** I plan big things for Thanquol, as well as Gotrek and Felix. I think you are right about shaman I tend to forget. I think I will start a Table of contents chapter soon, insert it at the beginning, and then show how Twin Legions & Chronicles fit in with one another as other readers- in chat and in the reviews- indicated they would rather I don't merge them. Thanks for the review!

 **reality deviant** Thank you! I noticed that Warcraft practicality where factions hate other groups (Azeroth hates BL, BL hates Void etc) yet all are willing to use aspects of their foes against them. Examples the Void Creatures of the Burning Legion, Warlocks in Azerothian forces etc. I look forward to seeing how that ideal works for Azeroth against Chaos, for better and for worse.

As for your long term consequences I am reposting something I said in a PM. To answer this in a roundabout way, my initial goal for this is to stick to canon as much as possible- at least for the beginning. That includes elements I really don't like, such as Maleketh as the one true Phoenix king, the ending of WOD etc. However, what I want to do in the long-run is start rolling 'snowballs down the mountain'. In other words, I am keeping track of all the longterm ramifications of everything I write and trying to chart a course of how it changes- or doesn't- canon.

To provide a specific example Tamurkhan, who invaded Nuln in canon instead comes to Azeroth. What are the long-term consequences of that? Well because Nuln isn't invaded and cities like Pfiedorf are not sacked, the province of Wissenland's power remains undiminished and perhaps this allows the Empire a stronger position. Perhaps the forces of Nuln are able to provide more aid to help Averland defend Blackfire Pass a decade later, and perhaps this allows a certain Averlandic count to survive. Meanwhile, a certain people of Azeroth take some damage to said warlord and his brothers.

Of course not every long-term ramification will favor Mallus (the planet) at Azeroth's expense. Some will do the opposite, while others are not zero-sum games. Some canon will change, others will stay the same.

 **wolpe** Thank you, I appreciate that good sir!

 **Thehappyvampire** Thank you I love your religious and cultural perspectives. While I have not yet done the dedicated research on how religions interact with each other, I plan to when the time comes to write Empire and Azeroth reactions. I do agree with the flexibility of Light worship and I think some creative priests can perhaps bridge the divide, arguing that the Light is a divine weapon of Sigmar (or, the opposite, that Sigmar is a chosen warrior of the Light).Shallya practioners I think would be the most flexible and willing to accommodate, for the Light is a source of incredible healing through which they can perform their goddess' goals. Other gods, like Ulric and Morr, would be more envious, as the Light seems to have its own realm for fallen souls.

I fully agree with your analysis of the Church of the Holy Light, though I will note its leaders have unfortunately been corrupted before, so Chaos might see opportunity in its hated enemy.

Ind is called the Land of a Thousand Gods and has a canon god called Brahmir (Brahma) which suggests it is very close to the Hindu pantheon, which seems accommodating of other gods in the real world. There are Hindus that believe in Abrahamic figures like Jesus, though as one of many, rather than only one. Even if we assume the gods of Ind are more hostile than their real world equivalences (for this is Mallus and pretty much everything is) the land still seems flexible enough to support another religion in its borders.

I look forward to the interactions between Dwarfs and Elves of the two worlds and suffice to say you have given me ideas. Humans, of the non Chaos variety, will probably have better reactions for sure.

 **DIOS de la Nada** Good question. I will have to mull that over.

 **MadFrog2000** Thank you for the comments, sir! I have not forgotten fleet requirements, which is why Zandalar and Kul Tiras are not featured at this time. Instead this entire arc is focused on the Broken Isles.

I am keeping the narrator a mystery though you will say a Vyrkul codex sometime in the future when I get to Koblakhan's section.

You will certainly see opportunists and the like, though I will say that I think there will be less of them than on Mallus for many reasons that ill explore in a later chapter (not least of which is Chaos has already had competition for those individuals!) And Yes on Monstrous Arcanium beasts.

 **EVA-Saiyajin** Thank you! Lizardmen will be a while to include though I do hope to include a brief perspective chapter here and there before their main section.

 **Carre** Thank you for the review!

-Regarding Gotrek & Felix rest assured I am as big a fan of them as you and look forward to doing a lot with every character.

-Interesting ill check out the Gnomes of WHF. However, that said, I have not encountered them in any modern writing of Warhammer (1990s on) so I think they were probably retconned out

-It will be a while before I explore Araby, though I intend too fully.

Maybe minor cameos for the other Chaos Gods that are minor, though I am going to focus on the Big Four and then Hashut/Horned Rat

-Alliance humans would probably be impressed by Mallus humans' staying power though I don't think they will be too impressed by their technology, more of a 'neat' reaction. Alliance humans can do insane things like parachute tanks into battlefield, fly around giant aircraft carriers and work alongside forces that deploy robots in common numbers

-Events of the End Times will be featured, including the Malekith thing, though I refuse to say whether Mallus will survive it this time around!

-That is a really neat idea and I encourage you to write such a thing!

I share your desire to see all the Eastern Factions in Total War Warhammer 3 (or 4, as another expansion) one day though the turn times will be so long, I can probably complete a whole chapter in between them!

 **Evowizard25** Thank you for the review! In regards to Warhammer vs. Warcraft fighting I think people make the mistake of looking at Warcraft through a strictly ancient/medieval lense and not taking into account how common magic and tech badly would require massive changes to the formation style of warfare. I meant what I said elsewhere- if you went into Warcraft with a medieval or enlightenment, aligned your armies into formations, and did not possess equal counters to all the support elements of Warcraft- your armies would lose, badly. They might do good against some Front line troops but would be overwhelmed by air, magic and tech, the latter of which historically decommissioned formations. Formation fighting can still find uses in Warcraft, but my research ( which I intend to publish in a upcoming update and includes historical citations as well as the theorizing of a 25 year military vet/scholar on how common magic would alter warfare) indicates it would not rule the day.

Now I haven't showed this here yet, as the Alliance/Horde are still uninvolved, but when they do battles will be different from anything seen on Mallus or Azeroth.

Unfortunately, the Norscans suffered a bit of a setback this chapter, though there are still some boats on the sea that either escaped or, were, like Wulfrik, fortunately out of harbor when Tamurkhan invaded. But Tamurkhan's brother Kobla shall certainly see the might of the Vyrkul! And, without spoilers, I will say Odyn is aware of what occurred on the Broken Shore.

 **Guest** I am still mulling that over ask so, unfortunately, I cannot answer this just yet.

 **Guest** As I write this I have written two thousand words on the Hinterlands. I have big plans for a new, custom faction in Warhammer based on what I consider the most fascinating part of the Indish lore and they are part of it.

 **The True Skull** Thank you ! And huh, you just gave me an idea…..

Rhivan Thank you! Unfortunately it will be a bit until the main story shifts away from Chaos, but stay tuned!

Make sure to vote everyone on which army you want me to feature after Tamurkhan's!


	8. A Glimpse of the East:December Update

**UPDATE 12-17**

 **Good Evening everyone.**

I am sure most of you are wondering why I haven't put out the next segment of my story. Rest assured it is not because I have abandoned it; far from it, I have written the outline of the whole next arc. Rather I am taking the time to finish another project for another group that relates to Warcraft whereupon I list the capabilities, units and heroes of each faction in a single worksheet.

I have finished the Alliance & aim to finish the Horde before Christmas. Then I will get back to fully writing the story. I encourage any who are interested in reading this document and learning more about what the Alliance & Horde militaries have at their disposal to PM me and I will send the link.

However, I do feel bad about not posting something for so long and have decided, thus, to post a little mini-update of something I have long promised: the expansion of the Warhammer World. From the beginning I have wanted to not only do a fanfiction of the existing factions like the Empire and Chaos, but to create lore of the portions of the world Warhammer neglected.

Cathay. Ind. Nippon. Among others.

While my primary focus have been on Ind, with the help of a friend I have started exploring and conceptualizing these three realms. I would like to share little previews of each in lieu of a proper update.

 **Note:** The little snippets of Nippon & Cathay, two lands I have only begun to explore, come from my oldest friend on this website, Scarecrowsmainfan, and all credit goes to him. At this time I am focusing on Ind, however I hope to explore the real life mythos behind the other two soon.

* * *

 _**CATHAY**_

 ** _Kua Fu & The Sun_**

 _Long ago, before Cathay had developed into the rich nation that it is today, giants were known to roam the lands and steppes. Though not common, their presence was known. And most well-known of all giants, was the mighty Kua Fu. He towered over not only man, but his giant kin as well, with most giants only coming up to his waist. Kua Fu ruled his clansmen with an iron fist, and commanded much respect among giant kind for his strength. Kua Fu knew he could take anything he wanted, that nothing was beyond him… but for one thing: The Sun. Each day the sun rose, and Kua Fu felt a burning desire. The sun towered over even himself, and its power was without question. Kua Fu decided he must have this for himself. He planned to hunt down the sun, and if he could not take its power, he would enslave it as his own._

 _The next day, as the sun rose, Kua Fu took off at a sprint, charging the horizon as fast as he could. But no matter how long he ran, he never seemed to get closer. Around mid day, Kua Fu stopped to slake his thirst. Finding a river, he drank greedily, draining the river dry. When he was done, he set his eyes on the sun and charged again. Only when the sun set did Kua Fu finally stop and rest._

 _For two more days this went, with Kua Fu charging across the plains, trampling everything in his path without a care, draining a river with his thirst, and resting after sun set. And it was as Kua Fu rested on the third day, that a meeting was held in heaven about what to do about him._

 _The Jade Emperor and his court listened as the spirits of the rivers drained by Kua Fu complained about being rendered homeless. The spirits of the plains complained about being so thoroughly trampled day after day. And several denizens of of Cathay had their own complaints about Kua Fu running through their fields or stomping their possessions or livestock._

 _The Jade Emperor knew this could not continue. So the next morning, he sent a messenger down to speak to Kua Fu before he began his run. The messenger told Kua Fu that he was to cease his daily run across Cathay. But the giant merely laughed in the messengers face. He swore he would not stop until he had his prize. The sun would be his, and soon he would shine brighter then heaven itself. With a sigh, the messenger retreated to heaven._

 _he Jade Emperor listened to the messengers report. Kua Fu had been asked, and had refused. The only thing to decide now was his punishment. He called for his servant alchemists to prepare a special elixir. Once they knew what their Emperor wanted, they had it completed before mid day. Giving the potion to the messenger, he sent him back to earth to find Kua Fu._

 _The messenger found Kua Fu just as he was about to drink from another river. He begged the giant to heed him, for heaven had come to offer a deal to the giant. Kua Fu, curious and arrogant, allowed the messenger to speak._

 _The messenger told Kua Fu that heaven was concerned for the drained rivers, that their loss might cause Cathay to wither without them. But they knew they could not overcome Kua Fu's great strength, nor keep him from chasing the sun with his mind so set. So instead they offered a compromise: If Kua Fu would swear to stop drinking the rivers dry, they would give him a potion. This potion would keep him from feeling thirst or hunger, so he could continue his pursuit of his prey all day. And it remove the need for sleep, that he might chase the sun all through the night if he wished._

 _Kua Fu, arrogant and vain, was enamored. To know that heaven so feared his strength pleased him greatly. If he did not have to stop for food or water, he would surely catch the sun! And if the potion failed to do as promised… well, he would show heaven they were right to fear him._

 _Drinking the potion in a single swallow, Kua Fu immediately felt the pains in his body fade away. With elation he jumped to his feet and sped off, forgetting all about the messenger or his promise. He ran and ran, all through the rest of the day and all through the night. He felt no exhaustion or need to rest, and felt that any moment he would cross the horizon and catch the sun unaware._

 _Alas, it was not to be. By the time the sun rose again, Kua Fu found himself stumbling, and his vision blurry. He found himself crawling instead of running, and by the time the sun was in the sky, he could not move at all. For while the potion had kept him from feeling thirsty or tired, it did not remove the need for such things. So it was that Kua Fu died of exhaustion and dehydration, never once close to his goal, and the sun never even acknowledging his existence._

 _In the time since, Kua Fu has come to be a byword for foolishness among humans. To be called a Kua Fu means to be one who ceaselessly pursues a hopeless goal. It is also a story about obeying the mandate of heaven, even if to do so means to give up a personal goal._

 _Among giants, on the other hand, Kua Fu's name still holds weight. But his kin and descendants have learned not to trust the gods of Cathay, and resent the humans for turning their ancestor into a joke. These giants are colloquially known as The Suns of Kua Fu, or occasionally Sun Giants for short._

 _These giants have deeply tanned skin, and those with hair often try to dye it red or gold, with mixed success. Sun Giants are incredibly selfish, and those who wish to entice one to fight for them will be required to hand over a large blood sacrifice in exchange._

 _Like other giants, Sun Giants are beasts in melee, but when it comes to range, rather then hurl boulders, they hurl massive spears into the enemy ranks. These are hurled in a large arc so they come crashing down among the enemy, sending them scrambling for cover or risk being impaled to the earth. Among humans these are nicknamed 'Sun Darts', because of a legend that says Kua Fu's children hurled similar spears at the sun in revenge for their fathers death. Giants, when ask, state the story is utterly false, and then tend to messily kill whoever brought it up._

 _The final thing that should be known about Sun Giants is that each of them, though all deny it, have the potential for 'Sun Madness". This affliction can strike at any time, acerbating the Giants frustration and obsession with the sun to insane heights. While all Sun Giants claim they are personally immune to such things, many field commanders have reported frustration as their massive allies stare stupidly into the sky, or else charge in the wrong direction off the battlefield in pursuit of the heavenly sphere._

* * *

 **NIPPON**

 _ **Gashadokuro**  
Race/Nation: Nippon  
Alignment (Death Aligned)  
Other Potential Armies: NA_

 _Gashadokuros are enormous skeletons that come into being as a result of mass starvation, the countless victims of such a tragedy fusing together into an undead colossus that continues to hunger  
even in death. Although a gashadokuro may at first appear to be the skeleton of some giant humanoid, the detritus sifting through its joints and its deadly ability to absorb creatures quickly reveal that the animated horror is something far more terrible._

 _Gashadokuros usually form in the wake of horrible natural disasters such as floods, droughts, or destructive storms that destroy crops and leave thousands without food. As hunger turns into famine and famine turns into death, the spirits of the dying sometimes leave a fragment of their pain and hunger embedded in their physical bodies. When the haunted corpses begin to decompose and sink into the ground, the bones do not fertilize the nearby grubs and plants as would normal bone meal, but instead become the devourers, absorbing countless vermin and showing the first sparks of undead energy as the bone shards and bits of marrow begin to move through the dirt of their own accord. The cursed bones of the starved victims congregate beneath the soil, and when they finally stitch themselves together and take the form of a gashadokuro, the undead monstrosity bursts forth and begins an endless search to satisfy its unearthly hunger._

 _Although its body is composed mostly of bones and other organic material that never fully decomposed, a gashadokuro is far from mindless, and still possesses a flicker of intelligence. The combined intellects of so many onceliving creatures weave together into a rudimentary but dark cunning, and the undead colossus uses its feral instincts to hunt living creatures, forever seeking to sate its ineradicable, collective memory of starvation. A gashadokuro's tombstonesized teeth and jagged claws are more than capable of destroying most foes, but it wields simple tools—such as an unearthed tree trunk used as a club—when it needs some sort of weapon to crush its opponents._

 _In a grisly mockery of human digestion, a gashadokuro may capture a dead victim in its jaws and incorporate the corpse into the innumerable bodies that churn within its massive chest cavity. In a matter of seconds, the corpse begins to turn into bleached, brittle bones, its indigestible possessions falling through the gaps in its skeletal frame as the giant lumbers on. Only when the gashadokuro's rib cage is completely filled with the bones of victims does its terrible hunger subside. But as the creature wanders and small vestiges of its meals tumble slowly from within, a gashadokuro starts to know hunger once again, and it resumes its hunt for new prey. A gashadokuro will hunt and kill anything, its appetite knowing no bounds. Nonetheless, it prefers larger creatures in the hope that such food will end its perpetual craving. Tales tell of ranchers who unknowingly raise their livestock in a gashadokuroplagued area, awaking to find all of their cattle gone, a trail of prematurely bleached bones leading into the distance their only clue as to their animals' whereabouts._

 _Although the bones cradled within a gashadokoru's torso serve to abate the creature's hunger, the behemoth also uses them as deadly weapons against more formidable prey. In combat, a gashadokuro sprays a wicked blast of fragmented bone shards at its foes, the deadly shrapnel flaying skin from enemies, stripping bark from trees, and punching through plate mail. After it has slaughtered its opponents, the gashadokuro picks up the bloody bodies and consumes them in its gruesome fashion, converting its victims' bones into additional fuel for its deadly attacks._

 _Gashadokuros can arise from almost any terrain, although they are most common in harsh, resource-strapped lands like scorching deserts or icy tundra. However, even urban areas can give rise to one of these predatory horrors if its people succumb to the right mix of hunger and despair._

 _Once formed, a gashadokuro's ability to range knows no bounds, and such terrors often travel hundreds of miles beyond their place of emergence to feed._

 _Despite its ability to understand the common tongue of the starved individuals who make up its bulk, a gashadokuro cannot be bargained with and does not make allies, even among its own kind. Its voracity drives it ever onward, and it knows no distinction between good and evil victims, wreaking havoc wherever it goes with no regard for the target of its endless craving. A gashadokuro's single-minded destructiveness can often unite even the bitterest and most ancient of rivals in tenuous pacts to rid the land of its monstrous presence. Occasionally, evil clerics and powerful necromancers can bend a gashadokuro to their will and, if successful, unleash the monster as a scourge against their enemies. Few risk such an attempt, however, as most evil spellcasters know that should they lose control over such a powerful minion, the consequences would be dire._

 _The intentional creation of a gashadokuro is almost unheard of, as the drawn-out suffering and deprivation required to create such mass starvation require time and a concerted effort few can muster. However, there have been instances of particularly heinous rulers who have sought the power of such an undead goliath, starving their people to death in order to use the ensuing monster as a weapon in war or for some other detestable purpose. More often, though, cruel warlords and merciless generals who wish to create such a horrific beast take the opposite route and attempt to cut off their enemies' access to food, effectively striking the targeted nations twice when the famished citizens starve, then rise from the earth as gashadokuros eager to destroy those whom they may have once called allies and kin._

 **KINGDOMS OF IND & KHURESH**

Of all the fabled lands of Warhammer's Far East I have found myself spending time on the Kingdoms of Ind the most, for of the established lands it has received the least amount of exploration in lore. While Cathay has appearances in the rulebooks and Tamurkhan, and Nippon has great importance to the Skaven, the Kingdoms of Ind are really only well known for their tigermen and that place where Lokhir Fellheart got his swords.

Yet the more I read of the place, the more fascinated I become, for the real world legends and cosmology of India is as vibrant and beautiful as any other country. I have been reading off and on of it over the past couple of weeks and I feel as though I have only scratched the surface.

Ind is a realm where monsters and demigods walk with startling frequency, where dozens of extravagantly wealthy human nations wielding magic and ideas unheard of elsewhere dominate the sub-continent. Yet humanity is not alone here, and pocketed in the gaps between these mannish civilizations lie a stitched together tapestry of innumerable hordes, herds, tribes and conglomerates, lands divided not by border but by species.

The differences between what we know of the Far East and all the incredible amount of literature over the west could not be starker when it comes to the Beastman. In the West, both in the eyes of humanity and in their own point of views, the Beastmen are portrayed as slavering Warbands of mass destruction, instinctively loathing civilization with a primeval hate. Their origins lie directly with Chaos, during the great warp-gate catastrophe that shattered the domes of the planet and their origins lie within the terrible processes enacted in those horrifying days. They are the Beasts of Chaos, and artifices of civilization are as antithetical to them as order itself.

Yet in the East this is empathetically not true, and the beast is given far more nuance. This is shown in the original myths and legends of India, Japan & China, where figures such as Ganesha, the Monkey King, and the Tengu are often given heroic characteristics and even serve, in the case of Ganesha, as patrons of learning , intellect and knowledge. This is true even in the fragments of Far East lore in Warhammer Fantasy that we have, where the Tigermen are shown to their own craftsmanship, religion and artifices ("Day of the Daemon") , where "Crowmen" served in Cathay's armies ("Tamurkhan") and, at one point, the legendary Monkey King even ruled over Malus' largest land (the old "Jack Yeovil" novels).

This presents a contradiction between East and West and brings up the question of why this difference exists. After much theorycrafting, I am excited to say that I have created a narrative that I hope provides a fun and creative answer to that question. Taking place in prehistory, in the days where the ancient Asur stood united and proud, this story will involve the good intentions of the then-most prominent Indish god, the legacy of a bygone race and influence of a dread empire that once held the world in a stranglehold of terror: the Naga.

The aftermath of these events would not only define a pantheon, but alter the fates of Ind and the greater Far East itself.

Once I am satisfied with the story, I hope to release it. At current I have done a rought outline as well as researched potential units for the Ind factions, humans and beasts alike.

* * *

 **OTHERS**

I have been reading an enormous glossary of fantastical beasts and cultures around the world and from that book I have gotten some ideas of how to expand upon some other locations of Mallus, like Lustria, the Southlands and even the tribal kingdoms of the not-Pacific.

With that said, I would also like to take the time to answer the reviews!

First, I will note in a general sense that I am really appreciate of them all. They really encourage me to continue this as well as give me new ideas to implement.

* * *

 **EVA-Saiyajin** Thank you, I was hoping to showcase that! While the scions of Chaos are undoubtedly tough, mental growth and stability is not really a priority for them. I have found these personality quirks frequent among my reading of them.

 **Rhivan Thank you and** Oh yes. It is my goal to make every single short story, codex, and chronicles relevant to the greater whole of my story. Even- Especially!- with the Eastern stuff I just described. Just as with the West, the East will eventually interact with Azeroth as well, particularly the Alliance & Horde. And the repercussions will echo across both lands.

But, in the more immediate sense, the intervention of the brothers on Azeroth instead of in the Empire, Cathay, & Lustria with have large ramifications across both. Just as hypothetical future scenarios -like, I don't know, the Burning Legion coming to Mallus & Azeroth at the same time rather than just Azeroth- will also have long term affects.

Thehappyvampire I always enjoy the theorycrafting of your posts. They are giving me some incredible ideas.

Regarding cults, I would think Shallya and the Church of the Holy Light would be the most positive relationship among any in the Empire or Alliance. Shallya seeks healing and allievement of suffering, while the Church of the Holy Light's tenants- respect, tenacity and compassion- go hand in hand. I would think each would see good in the other and, with some political maneuvering from Stormwind, I think a long term partnership could work.

With Sigmar it is more difficult, for though the god himself is interested in coalitions, his followers are not always. Many believe that he alone is the true god and none of the others deserve to exist. The rampant use of the Light is likely to cause them to raise their hackles, perceiving such play to be a instinctive threat, though the more open minded might see parallels between Tyr and Sigmar, as well as be pleased by the instinctive aversion of the Light to nasty things (Daemons, undead, void creatures etc). Perhaps some level of accord could be reached; perhaps some innovative philosphers try to connect Sigmar to Tyr, or even try to imagine the Light as Sigmar's weapon (or, for Azeroth, Sigmar as a sort of champion of the Light).

I am kind of thinking of a fic of Mathias Thulman in Drustvar now, providing Lucille Waycrest with the tried and true methods and means of Witch Hunters in their war against the Drust.

As for the Alliance & Horde….I agree that, on the surface level, the opening of the portals, the Alliance will benefit more. While I don't think they will acquire as sincere a friendship with any Old World nation as they have between their existent nations, they can come to accords, perhaps even alliances in the long run and particularly defensive pacts. This would obviously cause huge disruptions to the Alliance-Horde balance, as even though I think the Horde could take any single Old World nation by themselves, fighting them + Alliance is a recipe for disaster.

Yet, they are unlikely to be the only factions concerned by this new development. While the Orcs, Gobbos and the like won't care (and will get hit hard for not caring when they attack) the vampires- who scheme to rule the nations of man- very much will care. The Carsteins have difficulty enough conquering the Empire- now imagine conquering the Empire with skies filled by flying ships and with thousands of holy magic practioners tearing through their skeletons. In desperation, there is opportunity and depending on the warchief, that opportunity might be taken. After all, Sylvanas made a serious attempt to bring the San'layen into the Horde and I can see no reason why she would object to vampires, particularly if a strengthened Alliance is breathing down her neck. Likewise, the Vampires won't care about the Horde in the slightest, but can pretend to to serve their own goal (which is a feeling Sylvie will doubtless reciprocate).

Who knows- perhaps there are other potential allies in Mallus, perhaps, even, in the Far East.

And yes, I think there will be fights between Old Worlders and Azerothian humans over things like interspecies relationships, certain allies (Draenei, possibly Worgen) and their general liberalism towards magic.

 **Worm1** Thank you. I read _Slayer_ too and while I would agree that no one *should* make it through the Warp Gates, it happens all the time. Archaon led an army through both of them in his novel series, Valkia died within steps of the gate (and saw no dwarf) and even Malekith espied it from afar at one point, also not seeing a dwarf. If I had to reconcile the two, I would guess there are multiple paths to the gate and Grimmir is guarding one. Or perhaps the Chaos Gods, being jerks, warped reality around the Ancestor God so those they wanted to send through the gates could avoid them.  
Warhammer had gnomes in the awkward eighties. They have since been dropped.

 **reality deviant** Thank you and alas, I think over 50,000 years of animosity and unrelenting hate is too much for even Chaos Gods to put away. Wait and see for the Naga armies, but I certainly think you have a point. Also, by the time I get to the Naga, 8.2 may well by on PTR.

 **Carre** Thank you for the review!  
Ideally, I would like to have the Vampirates! Though it will be closer to original lore when a contradiction (for example, Saltspike is team living rather than dead).

Alas, I need to play Vermintide to answer your questions. Though I plan to, and already have some faint plans of the main Grey seer villain.

"Could you make a Codex of the Gods/Powers of both Mallus and Azeroth" Maybe in the far future, though for the gods of the Old World I encourage you to seek out the texts of the RPG books, which provide a treasure trove of useful information.

On homosexual characters- I encourage you to check out the Wowpedia listing on that topic. As a short answer Warcraft is pretty progressive with interspecies relationships and I see no reason why LQBT relationships could not also develop.

 **DIOS de la Nada** Thank you and I agree. Val'shara is the only zone affiliated directly with a super power at this time, and the Night Elven demigods like Cenarius have proven themselves against a very different branch of daemon.

 **BadOrk11** Thank you sir! I am still planning what I want to do in the long run regarding Vol'jin, Sylvanas , Varian and Anduin. I definitely think Vol'jin deserves more attention but, that said, the possibility of Vol'jin becoming the "loa of the Horde' is one of the directions of 8.1 I like (others, not so much).

I agree the appointment of Sylvanas was odd, however that is a plot point in 8.1, where even _Vol'jin_ (his spirit) has no idea why he appointed Sylvanas as Warcheif. Something was influencing him.

 **MadFrog2000** Thank you sir! In regards to Sylvanas and Xal'atath it depends on if the blade is a empty vessel or not, which I think it might be come the end of 8.1 I am not sure where Blizz is going from there.

Also in regards to the Tomb of Sargeras I was under the impression such things were locked in the deepest and most inaccessible vaults, protected by a long dead guardian's magic. That said I will confess to being lame and not actually doing the full dungeon in a raid barring the End boss. The only Legion raid where I did so were the Nightmare and Antorus.

 **Tobi14** Thank you for the comments! Hopefully without spoiling much I will say Chaos definitely has a permanent fixation and long term hold on this world and that, no matter what (if anything) happens to the portal at the Tomb of Sargeras, that is not going away. That said, Azeroth does have some fortune in that the gate does not *directly* connect to the Gates of Chaos but, rather, through an intermediary.

 **Guest** Thank you guest! In some of the novels I have read Plague warriors can function and maintain themselves even in sunny Tilea, far off from the Chaos portal. Though I would imagine the Nurglite's vitality is not quite as strong as they would be in Norsca, I don't think they are in immediate danger of destruction.

 **Dullahan1994** Thank you for the review and your English is fine! As for Nagash, the Tomb Kings and potential changes I will point to my design philosophy in the previous chapter. My goal is to have changes come about as the result of ripples in a pond. Each event in the main story has long term consequences that may or may not change establishe canon. It is possible that the Nagash-Tomb King war never occurs, happens differently, or even Nagash loses or never arises. Or it is possible it occurs exactly the same, as Azeroth's influence does not extend to this conflict.

 **Evowizard25** Thank you! I will note that Tamurkhan is experienced, his troops are born for combat and outnumber the Elves several times over. That said, I look forward to portraying the Elves with savagery and precision, especially with big names there like Cenarius and Jarrod Shadowsong .

 **Reed** Indeed! And it might just occur at a very heated time.

 **Swov** Wow thank you for the in-depth ideas and questions. They have gotten me to ponder quit a few things and though I cannot answer them all in depth today.

Regarding the Void and Chaos – I am glad someone else finally noticed this. While the Light is composed of positive emotions, the Void is composed of negative ones like despair, doubt, rage, madness and the like –emotions that are also the bread and meat of the Chaos Gods. There is room for overlap here,room for both to benefit from the same objectives, though both entities can only see a future where one of them is victorious . That said, there are many reasons why the Void would be happy that Chaos is present in Azeroth that would manifest in time.

Regarding Winds of Magic- the Winds have a secondary filter, in that they are blowing through Norsca rather than directly the Chaos Gates of Mallus. So unfortunately, the Winds haven't truly had time to accumulate enough, in my view, to support some of the real powerful Chaos spells. If I would have to give a comparison right now, I would say the WOM is about as strong on the Broken Shore as it would be in the Southern Human Realms. That said, sacrifice, sacrilege, the presence of so many corrupted things can definitely help empower the gods and the Winds of Chaos.

Only certain parts of Azeroth can serve as bridges between the elemental planes, the Emerald Dream and the main Azeroth plane. One of them, Shaladrassil, is in Val'shara.

Creating a magical gateway between planets is a difficult thing, and usually requires a font of magical power (Well of Eternity) people working on both sides (the Dark Portal) or an already existing portal location (the Dark Portal again, the Broken Shore). As I kind of imagine the Dark Portal to be heavily fortified to be one of the most heavily fortified zones on Azeroth at this point (after two orc invasions, one daemon, and one Iron horde) the Broken Shore was the logical choice for the first of these such incursions.

Thank you all for the reviews! My next update will hopefully be around the New Year!


	9. The Moonguard Stronghold

**AN:** Sorry for the Delay all. I encourage you all to read the end for future plans.

(...)

 _His spirit soared. Graceful, ethereal, powerful._

 _Below was a forest, stretched as far as the eye could see. Verdant green and vibrant, a natural wonder by the standards of most._

 _He sneered. How he ached to rain fire on the trees below like the spewing magma of a Mourn Volcano. Burn it down, choke it with ash, and render it a wasteland for the rest of time!_

 _Softly, a voice chuckled_

" _ **A man after my own heart, indeed."**_

* * *

What are the bonds of kinship when compared to the aspirations of divinity? How long does the affection and loyalty of the past last when measured against the prospect of an immortal future? Many who consider the dark path struggle on the precipice of this question, even in the north, for familiar ties are strong even there. Yet, while a few turn back and recant all too many stride forward, condemning kith and kin to damnation eternal.

For the Brothers Kurgan, there was never really a question about whether to sacrifice their own family for power, for each had intended to do so from the very beginning. Half-brothers all, sons of the mighty Great Khagan and his various wives, each of the brothers had had their ambitions emboldened since birth at the expense of familiar ties. Scheming mothers, immersed in their own petty power struggles, encouraged their sons to acquire power by whatever means possible so that they too could rise in grandeur and influence. Courtesans, advisors and tribal nobles aligned themselves with different siblings as their own internal plots demanded; fickle alliances that often did not last a passing of the moons. Kurgan society itself, ever-constant in its belief that might makes right and the weak perish, served to escalate familiar tensions at every turn.

The Great Kurgan himself looked upon his sons' transparent plans and plots with amusement. He even encouraged it in his own subtle form, believing that they would gladly spread his empire to the four corners of the world in their bids to inherit it. Only when those outbursts were severe enough to threaten his own position did the father step in and the punishments given were quite…severe. This had the intended effect of ensuring these rivalries simmered beneath the surface while their father ruled.

And so by the time the boys left adolescence the brothers not only were willing to sacrifice each other for power; they looked forward to the moment when they would be able to do so. Perhaps they held some level of reluctant respect for their father, an acknowledgement of his incredible brilliance, yet even he was not spared from their ambitions. In the deepest, darkest corners of their hearts resided patricide and each viewed the ultimate betrayal of their father as the final culmination of their personal monomyth. By now their mothers had all perished, victims of their own contrived schemes or the Khagan's fickle moods, adding to the heirs' animosity.

The heavy handed restraint of the Khagan was finally removed when the gods themselves forcefully elevated the sons as their instruments and with that elevation came freedom to pursue longstanding grudges. The brothers had clashed dozens of times in those early years, each time marked by a cataclysmic battle or duel that echoed throughout the Wastes. Hate, more than ambition now, drove them and none but the gods themselves could make the brothers stay their blades.

This is what happened on the shores of Suramar, for the gods had made a pack between one another and would not allow their catspaws to break it….yet.

Though neither cared one iota for the other- indeed, it was their greatest wish to give the other a long torturous death, both knew that whoever acted, the ultimate satisfaction would lay with the other. Or, in other words, no torturous death of one would ever equal the wrath the divine would pour onto their agonized souls.

That didn't stop the brothers from trying to goad the other into striking first, to draw the wrath of their patrons as the other brother slipped away blameless, a game similar to that they had played as children. Shaded insults and crude insinuations were thrown about like arrows in a steppe battle, each mired in their own corrupt backgrounds.

In deep, nasal tones Tamurkhan laughed at Omedakhan's age worn form, for he alone of the brothers had yet to suffer a true death. Through plague tainted eyes Tamurkhan gleefully pointed out the rot that lay within Omedakhan's bones, the inflammation that ached the joints and the cracks in the bones that kept him barely mobile: the frailty of a man kept alive through strength of his incredible armor rather than biological vitality. Tamurkhan bellowed that the armor was the binding that held the shattered soul of Omedakhan in place and without it his eldest brother would collapse into despair, and perhaps serve a new god.

Omedakhan's taunts were shorter, predictable in essence, but no less biting. In a loud, booming voice that could be heard across both armies he called his brother a bloated maggot, a weakling in the eyes of every god, an idiotic and foolish tick whose successes came not from his own talents, but that of smarter subordinates.

Neither was truthful yet neither was false. Like any kin the two brothers knew enough about one another to get under each other's skin by combining both. Yet both were knowledgeable of the game they were playing and neither moved to attack the other, no matter how much they fumed and swore vengeance within their hearts.

So long did they insult and berate one another that the midday sun fell from the sky, the troops grew weary and restless and the gods annoyed. Their displeasure could be felt the way the sun's rays could be on the back of an exposed neck, for both had wagers and desired their own champions to claim the prize.

They had a head start at the moment, but that would fade soon, as already the outriders to another brother explored the gate.

Eventually the glare on the back of their minds burned with fiery intensity and even the bickering brothers were cowed. Tamurkhan moved first, his army spreading across the breadth of the way up north and maneuvered around the bejeweled city. Diseases festered in their wake, no doubt intentional, for Omedakhan's destination was also northward, though no doubt after the eldest brother made his own futile attempt to breach Suramar's shield.

* * *

 _Once more, his spirit- detached from its mortal shell, free, at the moment of earthly bonds- glided through the air with ease that would fill even an eagle with envy._

 _He was a god, with a god's vision and a god's power. At least, compared to those below- even the seer was weary of those malign intelligences which gazed from further on high._

 _The ants mingled below, living lives regimented by eons of facsimile ancestral instinct and monotonous habit. Primitive and shackled by unseen bonds that most will never begin to perceive._

 _Still, there was variety in mortals and it would serve his own purposes to learn about this new breed._

 _His spirit sped downwards at the speed of a falling star, but as his soul roared to the earth the shadows grew wide._

 _His heart beat a bit faster- spirits did not leave shadows._

* * *

The movement of the Plague Lord's armies could only be compared to a forest fire, for such was the devastation it left in its wake that it would take a generation to recover. Trees were crushed beneath the enormous bulks of roaming mammoths or siege giants, while the trail of twisted contagion and foul fluids left by the Plague Lord's fellow Nurglites festered like a gangrenous wound a league wide. Like a cough in a crowded city market or a sore on an open cut the first touches of Nurgle began to creep into this new world. The PlagueLord's pleasure was palpable to his scions and the Nurglites basked in it, while the other components of the army-Dolgan, Fire Dwarfs and others damned souls- made sure to give them an extra wide birth.

Ironically, Tamurkhan himself shared the discomfort of his allies. Happy as he was to please his grandfather, the Maggot Lord was nevertheless frustrated at the pace of his army. Slow enough in normal times, for the forces of Chaos were naturally unruly, their normal pace of a dozen miles a day slowed further still by the rolling hills, forests and ruins that dotted the landscape. The former was, of course, nothing the Plaguelord wasn't used to, for he and his had hailed from the steppes, where such features were endless. However, the forests more often than not had to be hauled away to allow the bigger monsters of the Horde- the mammoths, giants and worse things- easier paths, for even those giant things grew tired from knocking down trees after a while. Worse the giants, drunk and forcibly bound to cursed armor by the cruel Dawi Zharr, were clumsy, graceless things and many a thundering crash echoed among the trees. Often, these giants needed help getting up afterwards.

The ruins, of course, were another issue. Such things were common in the Wastes and Steppes as well as here and were well known among the men to contain treasures. They served as a potent distraction, for many a raiding party went down into those tunnels, sometimes small in size and sometimes massive retinues many hundreds strong, led by chieftains of grandeur such as Fraukxetts of the Pox-Mantle, Wei Wen of the Chi-An and even Sayl the Faithless. Many had returned, bringing with them strange trinkets and tales of malevolent ghosts or deadly spider-folk, who dropped down from the ceiling on strands of sinuous silk and commanded hordes of crystalline arachnids to attack the intruders, while they themselves unleashed assaults of strange, pink magic. Other groups did not return at all.

Sayl, however, did- and, rumor had it, with a prisoner, too. The Dolgan were a secretive lot, but what spies Tamurkhan possessed among them reported the Dolgan Chieftain seemed to spend increasing amounts of time alone in his yurt, conversing in hushed tones in an unrecognizable language. The Maggot Lord was curious and vowed to order the Dolgan to bring the prisoner to the Maggot Lord's personal quarters soon enough. He would have done so already, but Sayl was particularly gifted with gifted at magical torture and interrogation.

Though Tamurkhan himself was curious as to what lay below this land, he was focused and after a few days of indulgence he banned further raids on the ruins. A bold few lesser chieftains, chafing under his edicts, slipped away in the night to seek their fortune down below. They too never returned, though whether it was out of a desire to avoid the Pox-Lord's displeasure or because they had found their fortunate Tamurkhan did not know.

The only sign of fortune was that a single, faint road crisscrossed the province, a faded remnant from a continental spanning highway of an ancient empire that had once held dominion over this world. Tamurkhan had given its use to Drazhoath, for his machines would benefit from a stable surface. As the Dwarfs moved across the ancient road the tracks and treads of their mighty carriages ripped away portions of it and ruined others. Yet the Dwarfs cared nothing for the destruction of an edifice older than their entire civilization and spared only trivial concern for how they were going to travel back over the most ruined parts.

After a few days of this travel Tamurkhan gave the order that the pace be doubled, much to the unhappiness and mumbled curses of his troops. Tamurkhan ignored it all, for his will was law here and those who mumbled too loud were invariably cosigned to the sacrificial fires or given over to Drazhoath as slaves. He pushed the Horde forward, for he knew that a force as large and as altering to the environment as his could not remain untroubled for long. Invariably, he would be noticed by some unknown power of this world.

Unbeknownst to him, he already had.

* * *

The Nightborne of Suramar was not the only elvish power of this province. For ages the monkish order of the Moon Guard had secluded themselves in their ancient stronghold, practicing magical arts long since forbidden among their race and maintaining rituals older than most species. They had fallen far. Once they had served as the peacekeepers for a continent-spanning empire, their advice sought after by princes and queens alike. Their ranks had numbered in the tens of thousands then and millions more had followed their edicts. Now, just over a thousand of their order remained, split amongst a single mighty fortress and a rare few hidden outposts.

The last remnants ranged from fatalistic old veterans who sunk into bitterness as they remembered the days of olden glory to the few idealistic newcomers, either children of existing members or the rare few of Kaldorei society who showed the aptitude, interest and power to join their esteemed group. These individuals still held out hope that they could one day rejoin the Kaldorei, despite their kins' shunning of the arcane in favor of more natural magics.

Hermits or relics of a bygone past, the Moonguard nevertheless remained attuned to the magical world around them. And it was hard not to notice the intrusion of unknown hands, for the leylines registered unknown energies about them. The air, the clear, breathing Suramar air, began to have a lay a bit heavier on the lungs, as if something sick was upon it. Finally, a captain of the Moonguard, Thalrenus Rivertree, had ordered scouts to survey the nearby lands on their Hippogryph mounts. It had not taken those scouts but a few hours to return with news of an army on the march, this one larger than anything they had seen since the War of the Ancients.

Debate had erupted among the great captains about what to do. To the shock of many listening acolytes, not one of them advocated for bunkering down in isolation. Relics and recluses they may be, all had sworn to protect these lands in the ancient past. And, despite their disgust at the druidic mannerisms of the modern-day Kaldorei and resentment over their exile, they would not abandon the Night Elves either. Worse, there was a taint about the newcomers that had reminded the elders of the daemons of old and this set the normally calm nerves of the Moonguard on edge. Their hatred for the monsters that had corrupted their queen and brought low the Kaldorei Empire had endured the last ten thousand years and would continue on until either they or the world ended.

Some of the more headstrong, bold members advocated for harrying tactics. While the scouts identified an army that dwarfed theirs by many, many orders of magnitude squads of concealed mages armed with teleportation scrolls could no doubt wreak havoc on the exposed areas of the horde before teleporting back to the safety of the fortress. Yet others argued that such a move would only serve to antagonize the horde to assault their stronghold and while the stronghold's defenses-both magical and physical-were potent indeed, the enemy had the numbers to come crashing over their high walls like the waves of the Sundering.

Not surprisingly, the difference in opinion corresponded with their age and rank. The old guard favored the preservation of the order above all other concerns and advocated for caution, while the young and bold spoke of military action, however minor such assaults would be. Hope still smoldered in their hearts and these youth made it known that they believed such decisive action would help absolve the past sins of the Moonguard during the War of the Ancients, when too many had sided with Azshara and her selfish ambition. The older veterans snarled angrily upon hearing this, believing that the incredible sacrifices their order had made during the course of the war more than made up the failings of a few traitors.

Eventually, a compromise was reached. Messengers were sent out on Hippogryph to the neighboring province of Val'shara, while another group probed the Arcway for means to contact the elusive Suramites, though few believed this city-state needed much protection. Indeed, the very fact that the invaders were heading north likely meant to that they had been unable to get through the mana sphere and thus were seeking new targets.

Meanwhile, the Moonguard would prepare a ritual that would cover their fortress in a veil of illusion, making it look like the rest of the mountain. They would then let the invaders pass and, once the coast was clear, emerge to harass their rear ranks. It was hoped this would allow the Moonguard to engage and destroy their supply line. Past that…there was little the Moonguard could do. Bereft of manpower, they could not hope to destroy the enemy force themselves. There was doubt the elves of Val'shara could, either.

Only the rulers of their race in far off Kalimdor possessed that sort of manpower, though whether they would be able to send reinforcements in time or at all was an unknown variable even to them.

* * *

 _He swayed and chanted, his arms motioning to the heavens themselves. It was faint here, but still noticeable- he could feel the aethyr swirl around his spirit like beasts to a watering hole._

 _As he raised his knife over the goat, the beast looked up and met his gaze evenly._

 _It has seven eyes._

* * *

As the Moonguard prepared for their spell, Tamurkhan and his host marched onwards through grassy plains and forests. In their wake were left shattered trees and festering earth, the spirits of these entities screaming mouthless as warp-tainted energies and foul afflictions riddled through them. Just by their very act of marching the scions of Nurgle inflicted an atrocity on Suramar the likes of which had not been seen for ten thousand years.

The Moonguard noticed this and many were driven to anger by the desecration, for though they did not worship nature in the manner their rustic kinfolk did, they recognized its beauty. A few of the more impetuous still wanted to fight. These individuals were restrained- forcibly, in one case- by their peers, for even the actions of one elf would alert the encroaching horde of a nearby foe. Though confident in their illusion, the captains of the Moonguard acknowledged that it wasn't foolproof.

Though Tamurkhan had bullied the horde into a semblance of discipline, their pace still languished compared to what it had been on the plains. However, resentment and impatience provided a potent fuel, and even into the night the warriors of ruin hacked at the trees like they were the bitterest of foes in order to clear a path for the following morning. Anticipation built among the Horde like a deadly beat and each day the crescendo rose louder still. The various ruins and fallen creatures of this land indicated a formidable civilization once existed here and the followers of Chaos longed to test themselves against whatever degenerate remnants still existed.

Meanwhile, a hundred of the Moongaurd gathered round and began the ritual. Ancient words not uttered in over ten thousand years were spoken aloud once more and the air around their fortress began to shimmer with arcane power. Light and shadows were warped together, and then out of existence. A vision of that which did not exist came into focus. Further spells applied little subtle compulsions to the illusion.

Thus, by the time Tamurkhan's horde had reached the loose woodland in front of the Moonguard's holdings, nothing remained of the mountainside fortification. Instead, in its place, was only a series of rocks, boulders and jagged detritus from the mountain. Those whose gaze passed over the scene only concluded, rightly, that such geography was impassable and continued on. Those few overly curious individuals who focused on the geography tended to lose it after a few moments, their attention span sapped by a spell designed to protect the illusion's integrity.

The spell held and Tamurkhan's army marched. First an hour, then two, the mages of the Moonguard watched, in awe, as the legions of the invaders marched past. Well, a legion was a bit of a generous term. They were, to the Elves' eyes, akin to innumerable tribal bands, spread out and organized only by some unseen goal, rather than a central command. Only the strange, viscous-looking earthen that marched in the center column maintained any semblance of discipline. Yet it was clear that the newcomers were a larger force than any that had marched across these lands in many ages.

And, unfortunately, they were about to see it in action.

Their illusion magic was near perfect, a fitting achievement to magic developed for over 15,000 years. Even magic users could be fooled, for the magic of the spell limited arcane excess on the edges and obscured that which lied within. However, foolproof it was not. There were tiny discrepancies here and there, like a jagged rock that poked awkwardly into the mountain, or a tiny portion of the adjacent river that seemed to flow from nowhere. The focus-breaker spells were meant to foil such minor geographical conflicts by preventing the enemy from seriously noticing them in the first place. However, nothing was full proof.

Most of the horde's sorcerers paid no attention to the nearby rock formations, their every vision while traveling focused on diving the path- and enemies- forward. Already they had an inkling of what they would soon face, scenes of strange fae creatures and their stranger allies fighting in the shadow of a tree far larger than any which they had ever seen. However, one was not and, as was par the course for the legion, it was the least trusted whose eyes gazed the farthest.

Ever since he had captured that strange spider-woman, Sayl the Faithless had spent every waking moment ruthlessly interrogating her for answers. Between tortures, false promises of freedom, whispers of power and magical compulsion he had broken her will. Once he had used his mastery of sorcery to learn how to speak with her, the questioning began in earnest. Like an obsessive scholar he had sought everything from her.

And what secrets he had learned! As he listened, enraptured, she spoke of an ancient empire that spanned the width of the planet and of a time where the use of magic was as common as the caskets of wine that flowed from a thousand vineyards. Daemons glowing with green fire led by a colossus who bestrode worlds had ended the era in a rain of fire and 'fel'. Great heroes of that time had eventually prevailed, but at a terrible cost- the world had been split asunder by their efforts. Now only scattered remnants of that people remained, and it was of those she spoke the most passionately about.

Apparently, only her people- the mutations of spider and elf- truly carried on the legacy of the Old Empire. It was a claim that Sayl internally mocked, but outwardly did not challenge and instead utilized to his gain, claiming (and, for once, not lying) that the plague host had no claim on their underground domain. Instead, the host's master had directed them against "a tree that bestrode the heavens' and a 'city in a violet bubble'. Had tact been necessary he would have avoided so blatantly naming the host's objectives but in truth he cared not here. Had she objected, he would simply have spent a little more time torturing it out of her.

Fortunately she had no objections; quite the contrary, actually. She had grinned maliciously then and proceeded to volunteer, without prompting, all that she knew.

The first such group she spoke of in utter contempt. "Country Bumpkins" she had called them "mockeries of elves who had voluntarily chosen to reject the gifts of magic for fornicating with nature". Her bias was evident, but she nevertheless had spoken with reluctant approval of their archery skills, the ease through which they moved through the night and their mastery of the woodlands.

The city-group was far more interesting and offered far more intriguing possibilities. According to the spider-witch, they were the last remaining city of the Old Empire, enclosed within a magical sphere of protection since the waning days of the "War of the Ancients". The inhabitants of this 'last city' fed on magic the way men did on meat and wine, and possessed an unbroken line that had continued for over 15,000 years!

His mind had reeled with possibilities and plots. So much that he had almost missed it when his prisoner spoke of 'lost outposts'. But he hadn't and the conversation that followed had proved very...enlightening.

Sayl had lost the use of his normal vision long ago, when he had betrayed his old master and seized power in a scheme so vile; that even the gods had saw fit to punish him. Instead, he saw the world in a hellish medley of colors, shades and interposing visions. Usually he could see the vibrant currents of magic like others see rainbows, only with omnipresent arcs and damned entities wandering them. Here, however, those omnipresent arcs had been reduced to a bare trickle, and that only then emanating from a long sling like trail that followed the Host, albeit one that seemed to grow a bit larger every day.

However, that did not mean he could not see. Instead, he saw a very different assortment of colors with different connotations and meaning that were still very alien to him. He could not 'taste' or feel them in the manner he could the strange substance of the aethyr, but they were nonetheless there and, to Sayl's knowledge, devoid of the predators that sought to feast on men's souls. It was thanks to the spider-woman that he had names to put to the new colors.

Still he could see them, see their gaps and patterns. And on the mountainside beyond he could see a most peculiar gap in the arcane, see a small flow of natural water magic flow from a place where it seemed impossible to flow. Yet whenever he drew his gaze upon it his mind wandered elsewhere, and at times he would even forget what he had focused on. Many a sorcerer would have dismissed this as a natural occurrence.

But not Sayl. Whereas others chose to master the magics of their chosen god or the more destructive elemental magics he had turned to the subtle magics of the sky and of the shadows that befuddled and pranced around men's forms. Through his research into these two competing forms of lore he had learned much about fate and of means to manipulate the minds of men. He recognized illusion magic when he saw it.

An illusion was a delicate thing, capable of being shattered by a single blow.

The question was what to do about it? Should he alert the stunted ones and have them lob an experimental missile in the holding's direction? No, the Chaos Dwarfs would scoff at his demands, and would demand too much to even consider answering. Sending warriors over there would only allow them to claim discovery if they found anything at all, for it might be possible for whatever magician stood inside to befuddle them. And it would be a risk to use his own magic to dispel it, for indeed, he was not sure he could on this planet with the dearth of aethyric materials.

Instead, his idea was bolder, more dramatic and infinitely less advisable.

From atop Nightmaw he sung words of power and gathered as much magical materials as he could muster. Other sorcerers in the horde turned to him in shock and alarm but, before they could attempt to disrupt his spell crafting, he unleashed a massive spear of shadow akin to a ballista bolt of some artillery piece. All eyes turned now to view the bolt of power.

Had Sayl been wrong, he would have been humiliated beyond endurance. Likely, fatally so. Yet as the spear of power cut through one of the jagged rocks, the scene changed. The rocks re-materialized into a jagged tower as it crashed to the ground. Then the rest of the illusion toppled like a deck of cards whose core support had been removed.

Silence reigned. For a few pivotal moments all were too stunned to move. The Moonguard stood, shocked, like a mouse suddenly revealed before a cat. Tamurkhan too, stared at the fortification with unblinking incomprehensibility, for none of his dreams had ever shown such a foe.

For long moments, neither Tamurkhan nor Sayl nor the Moonguard broke the stillness. Perhaps if either of the former two had, they could have instilled some discipline among their forces, and assaulted the fortification as an army would. Instead that vital role in history would go to some nameless warrior of an unspoken tribe and an unknown race. With a single prayer to the gods for providing him or her relief to the last few weeks of monotonous work, the warrior bellowed a challenge to the Kaldorei and charged. And Ruin followed with them.

Hastily Tamurkhan barked his orders, demanding compliance and threatening a most grizzly death to all that defied him. Yet not even his herald Khazyk the Befouled could be heard over the tumult, as his army unleashed war-cries of their own and charged. By contrast, Drazhoath had no problem at all, for his soldiers were as silent and well-drilled as machines.

Deprived of a good fight for so long, the warriors spoiled for a battle and the glory that would result like a pack of wild dogs would meat, regardless of the source. Only the gods themselves could reign them in now, and if They were watching, they were watching with silent intent.

* * *

Those in the fortress were in a state of panic as the vibrations of so many boots running towards them seemed to shake the mountainside itself. Their scouts had written extensive reports on the size of the enemy forces but reading a report was different from seeing- no, _feeling_ \- the real thing. The sheer numbers of the enemy dwarfed imagining, covering as far as the eyes could see. Only in the final, most desperate battle of the War of the Ancients had a single elven force ever mustered so many on one field.

It was the veterans of that legendary conflict that restored order, barking commands to the younger scions to evacuate as much of their stored magical knowledge and artifacts as possible. Their memories were flooded with seas of liquid fire and hordes of nether-spawned abominations, the veterans nonetheless radiated a sort of grim confidence that came from knowledge.

For the past ten millennia, these veterans of the order had laboriously crafted the Moonguard Stronghold into a fortress straight out of legend. Built into the side of a mountain, with many cascading levels, the fortress had been designed with sudden, conventional assaults in mind. Thanks to the river that surrounded the fortress, conventional assault by means of ladder or siege tower was near impossible save for two entrances, and one of those was a bridge. Already, mages lay in wait by that, ready to deliver a nasty surprise for the first that sought passage. Scaling by hand would likewise be extremely difficult, for to do so the enemy would have to wade through a small river, climb the Cliffside and then climb walls long since smoothened and enchanted to limit such an approach.

Defense enchantments against magic did line the walls, though they had been deactivated so that the illusion charm could cover them. Already mages were hurriedly going about to reactivate them, though they doubted they would hold for long if the rest of the enemy mages were as powerful as the first. Rivertree and most of the other leaders moved to organize the longer evacuation on the more occupied upper levels while Lorius Mooncaller, chief librarian, was already in the lower gardens to personally help evacuate the books and plants there. Though scant compared to the higher levels, Lorius was a fanatic about the preservation of knowledge and regents, believing that to allow either to die was to allow history to die.

There was a secondary purpose to Mooncaller's efforts. At what Mooncaller considered the heart of stronghold, Starweaver Sanctum, the Astromancer Starweaver and his daughter were even now empowering the Astromancer Keystone to bring all of the Stronghold's defenses online. They needed time, however, to conduct the ritual to do so.

That left only one approach, one point of defense for the Moonguard to focus their efforts on and though the enemy would eventually overwhelm that point- through sheer weight of numbers and magic- they would be delayed, mightily. And that would have to be enough- for both the Moonguard and those who they sought to forewarn.

* * *

Close to eighty thousand voices rose in a clamorous cry, the energy from those at the front infecting even those who had not yet caught sight of the fortress. Yet, among the legions of the passionate, keen eyes governed by cold calculations analyzed.

Expert in siege craft, master of artillery, and the malice wizened gaze of Drazhoath, the Ashen, perched atop Cinderbreath calmly took in the fortification before him and snorted. An admirable effort and better than he had expected, but shoddy work none of the less. The walls were paper thin and against any enemy with proper equipment all those pretty terraced levels would be reduced to exposed rubble in nothing flat.

The Chaos Dwarf eyed the charging hordes with some grim amusement. Eventually, through sheer weight of numbers Tamurkhan's forces would overwhelm the lower defenses, but even numbers could not defy gravity. Moreover, causalities could be significant, depending on the force the enemy had behind those walls.

Not that the Chaos Dwarf particularly cared about the latter and neither, likely, did the lord of the host. Lives were spent like currency to elevate the ambitious, and Tamurkhan had plenty of coin to spare.

As he watched, the first mass of howling manlings made it to a bridge and, after a few moments, right after said bridge had been sufficiently filled with the masses, an explosion tore through the construct, sending men and kindling flying. Up in the sky where no one could see him, the Dwarf allowed himself a light chuckle; truly the manling's mind was as warped as their forms. No proper Dawi would have fallen for such an obvious trap!

Then a squadron of strange birds arose from the depths of the fortress, beaked and feathered but with four legs, like some riding beast. Indeed, they were ridden by tall, thin beings of-

Drazhoath blinked, and then his remaining mirth dissipated. He sneered.

 _Elgi._

This changed everything.

He kicked Cinderbreath in his sides, bidding the Taurus to descend to within shouting distance of his soldiers below.

* * *

With the bridge to the Anaetheum destroyed, the bulk of the mage guard- or at least the hundred or so choosing to fight, while others helped evacuate- turned their attention to main entrance of the Lower Gardens, the only remaining non-hidden entryway to the fortress. The humans swarmed to it like the famished to a feast, sometimes trampling their own unlucky enough to slip. Knowing the construction itself would not long hold, a Moonguard Archmage and two dozen lesser cohorts infused the barricade with the arcane, causing it to glow bright pink. The human wave crashed into the barrier, causing the magi to strain a little from feedback of energies. Nevertheless, the barrier held and the marauders outside raged impotently as they were deprived of their blood and glory.

The roar of the massed men drowned out the cries of the hippogryph and the shouts of their riders. But the cries turned a different tenor as the flyers dropped their payloads- concentrated packages of pure arcane. Like arcane supernovas they exploded in a brilliant violet luminescent with nary but an agonized shriek to mark their passing, their victims temporarily frozen in glass statues that immortalized the excruciating pain of their last moments. Then, like the dreams and aspirations of so many, the glass shattered into dust upon the wind.

This, at last, broke the northern charge. Though nowhere near as fearful of magic as their 'weak' southern counterparts, they held the same fear of the unknown used against them. The momentum of those in flight clashed with those still in motion, eager to reach the battle lines, unaware- by virtue of their own shouts and positioning- of the carnage before them and utterly disdainful of the 'cowards' retreating.

The result was that the second and third payloads did even more damage than the first, glassing dozens with each strike and viciously wounding even more. With three loads of bombs dropped, the fifteen hippogryph riders had already claimed hundreds of lives on the crowded masses below.

Yet, if the Moon Guard dared hope the Northmen would back off, they were terribly mistaken. No weapon in their arsenal of tricks was as terrifying as the wrath of the Dark Gods or their servants, no act of deterrence enough to stay the lust of glory and an eternal afterlife. The Northmen rallied swiftly, even as it became apparent that the Moon guard was not the only force with creatures in the sky.

A dozen and a half heads looked up as the sun suddenly faded. Voices raised in alarm but it was too late for one, as a winged terror the size of a house swooped down to pluck it out of the sky. The hippogryph and rider struggled mightily in the dragon's talons, but with a twist and a pull it was bodily split in half. The remnants were cast to the earth as a warning that the skies were no longer the Moon Guard's domain.

Yet the warning had not been made a point of fact, and the hippogryths still outnumbered the dragon within the air. And their riders were accomplished magi all. Over a dozen lances of violet might poured out of their outstretched palms, forcing the dragon rider to veer downwards. Even so some of them stung, and the dragon hissed in hatred and pain as the magi rapidly chanted other incarnations.

However, the dogfight above took away the hippogryph's focus on the bombing runs below and, encouraged, the Northmen redoubled their assault on the gates.

The mages strained once more, but steeled themselves, for the evacuation was not yet complete.

They froze at the sight of an enormous colossi-nearly half again the size of the wall- leering over it at them. It was covered in midnight black armor, adjourned with eye-stinging runes and innumerable trophy skulls. At points in the armor flesh erupted from cracks in the seams, while at others the steel seemed to have grotesquely and painfully fused into the skin.

Then another such figure rose over the walls, then another.

The Kaldorei quivered- not even their scout's reports could have prepared them for the sight of such creatures directly. Ravenousness showed on their ugly faces, along with a cruelty that bespoke of intent to take its time with eating them.

There was a crack in the distance and those giant features morphed, for an instance, into expressions of utter terror. The giants shook in hangdog sufferance before raising their arms- twisted combinations of flesh and hammers- and bringing them down in a thunderclap earthquake that shook the world. The elven walls crumpled instantly to their terrible might and with it the hopes of an orderly evacuation.

Only the fact that the walls had been built on a hill overlooking a ten foot deep stream saved the Moonguard from an immediate breach. The Northmen were already rushing in like south sea sharks that could smell blood, but first had to wade and climb to their destination.

The Moonguard saw this as well, and their leader magnified his voice into the air and shouted a warning of immediate evacuation. Apprentices ceased their efforts to conceal or levitate prized artifacts and fled for the winding stairwells and arching bridges that led to the next level of their multi-tiered mountain fortress. Adepts and more accomplished magi unleash a dizzying array of violet covering fire aimed directly at the giant's eyes, forcing them to turn away and try to cover themselves with their blade-arms.

Meanwhile the gates gave another strain, as the Moonguard holding it was visibly sweating now over the effort. Mages ran around them summoning arcane elementals and quickly crafting crude arcane traps; things that would slow the humans down when- not if- they breached.

Outside, the aerial dogfight continued. Another hippogryph and rider had been immolated by the dragon's breath, yet the numbers and magical abilities were beginning to show its toll and the creature was badly singed in several places.

With a roar of hate, one of the blinded giants- hit in the eye by a fire spell- swung his blade in a 180 degree arc, sending yet more fragments of the wall crashing down. Awkwardly, weighed down by over a ton of metal, the giant raised his foot to take the first step of disorder into the ancient bastion of its antithesis.

It never got the chance. A Moon Guard archmage caught sight of it and, weaving quickly, summoned six enormous spikes of ice from the ground. The frostshards tore through the foot like nails for a human and the giant screeched in agony, no longer able to delicately balance itself.

The creature toppled backwards, right on top of dozens of screaming Northmen.

Meanwhile, the apprentices and adepts had made it to the next level and now the more accomplished magi and archmages were beginning to follow them, covering the rear. Lothrius Mooncaller called out to his friends at the gate, now starting to sag under the strain, before temporarily lending his own might to the barrier. The mages establishing traps were almost finished...

The dragon roared as one of the Moonguard, in a daring maneuver, narrowly avoided the beast's jaws and hurled a magical satchel containing a vase's worth of concentrated arcane at the beast's back. The rider was glassed in an instant, and a hole the size of Darnassian owl gaped on its back. The dragon hissed, roared and moaned, breathing fire sporadically that forced a burned bird rider to land, before veering off and fleeing.

However, its roars echoed across the province like voices in a cave. It was answered by several other cries, for the rest of the pack had been sent ahead to scout. Their return- including of the pack's leader, Orpaal Vilegut- would herald much scorched earth, of that all could be certain.

Elven ears perceived the differentiating roars even over the din of battle, and one third of what remained of the Hippogryph riders hastened downwards to warn Mooncaller and the other leaders. The others flew over for a final bombing run. Though many more Northmen were slain, Kaldorei satchels were exhausted before Northman zeal.

Their final bombing run gave the mages maintaining the gate shield a brief moment of respite. Following long coordinated protocols, they abandoned the gates and fled, along with the rest of their ilk, towards the stairwell leading to the next level even as Northmen poured through the gaps in the giant-torn walls like water through a boat's proliferated hull- followed, awkwardly and with great care, by the metal clad behemoths themselves.

Then, with a loud boom the gates blew open and a living, mutated tide poured through them. Arcane elementals rushed from their circles of creation at the intruders, completely undaunted by the numerical disparity. The traps that the apprentices set erupted in busts of light. Some froze the legs of the intruders, cutting deep and forcing the cursing Northmen to cut themselves free. Others badly singed, or even set alight completely. Still others had truly weird effects, like transfiguring those who stepped into them into goats, teleporting them high in the air to drop into crowds of their fellows, or shackling them in magical chains.

Many of the spells were designed to wound or inhibit, as the Moonguard normally would have liked to interrogate their intruders and taught their apprentices such trapcraft. However, some of those apprentices studied more harmful traps in their free time, while those set by accomplished magi or archmages exploded in superheated flame, bursts of destructive arcane or created tortoise sized floating balls of ice that exploded outward in a deadly hail of shrapnel.

Yet all of this was just detritus before the storm. The Northmen absorbed their losses, overwhelmed the traps and set upon the elementals in a hacking fury. The losses taken to such things were little noticed amongst the surging crowds, and thus what should have delayed for minutes instead only did so for moments. They raced after the elves, which were busy hurrying up the stairs to Moonfall Roost. The rear of the retreating magi noticed this and, outstretching their hands, poured forth ice turning what was once stairs into a steep, slippery ramp. This they did with every stair after the last elf came across and frustrated cries revealed their efficacy.

Elsewhere, the Dawi Zharr bombarded with renewed fury, happy to have found structures that they could destroy. Meanwhile, Drazhoath lazily observed the fighting between the floppy eared elves and the Northmen from a safe distance on Cinderbreath above, happy to see the capabilities of these foes without direct risk to his assets (soldiers).

The delay proved fruitful. The last of the hippogryths took to the sky, empty of saddles or riders save only the alpha-Buckbeak- ridden by their mistress, Serena Windfeather.

The entrance to the Anaetheum was ahead, and through it the bridge to the Starweaver Sanctum. Behind them, the invaders surged.

The rest raced for the bridge, over half already across. However, a bright light blazed through the sky, like a second sun that drew all's eyes to it. Many of the younger apprentices cried in terror as agonized screams and the howls of the damned could be heard on the wind. And then, the purple malefic sun collided into the bridge, obliterating it and all those currently crossing.

* * *

Atop Cinderbreath, Drazhoath grinned wickedly at the sight of utter destruction before him.

Finally, something destructible to test his guns on! None of that cowardly shield magic here. Moreover, a number of elgi were trapped on the wrong side and the umgi, though crude beasts, would likely make entertaining sport of them when they finally managed to catch up to the elves.

The grin turned into a sneer.

Even the buildings themselves were as weak as structures of kindling. Perhaps their buildings stood as a metaphor for the elven race themselves- overly reliant on magic and pretty on the outside, yet ultimately as weak as any manling in both body and soul.

Unlike Dwarfs in so many ways. Even their hated Western Kin were more powerful and stronger than the elgi, if somehow more foolish and backward. Drazhoath snorted, thinking that if it had been the Dawi Zharr that fought the war of the Beard with the Elgi the latter would have been enslaved within a decade.

Yet, even as the Fire Dwarf thought that, brute honesty forced him to acknowledge the numerous setbacks the Dwarf race- the true Dwarf race- had suffered to the hated knife ears. It was thanks to ancient elf fortresses at the ends of Calith and the Southlands that the Dawi Zharr only rarely penetrated past those points, denying them access to the lucrative Empire and Cathay slave markets. Oh the Dawi Zharr had tried- whole fleets of dreadnoughts armed with mortar and rockets had tried- but the magic of the elves gave them victory where their ships alone (Effeminate things) could not.

And their dark-haired kin, the so-called Druichi, were yet worse still. Abominable things, who thought themselves the premier race in the world and all others slaves. Copiers and plagiarists, the Dawi Zharr thought, for they had been spreading their tendrils across the world when Malekith was just an untested princeling. Worse was that they acted upon their thoughts. More than once the hated dark elgi had attacked a full slave caravan in the northern wastes or within the Sea of Dread, ransacking Dawi Zharr equipment and stealing their property (slaves). But perhaps the greatest affront of all was that sometimes the Druichi would dare enslave the Dawi Zharr themselves, an affront that could only be repaid in blood and fire. Though the Dawi Zharr cared not for the individual Chaos Dwarfs enslaved (any weak enough to allow that deserved their fate) and, indeed, often enslaved each other, for another race to do so was an affront on the entirety of Zharrdom. Though the kingdoms of Naggaroth and Zharr Naggrund were a world apart, brutal responses had marched through the Northern Wastes and terrible battles had been fought in the north of the Witch King's kingdom until the Zharr managed to spill enough Druichi blood to make up for the slight.

His thoughts veered back to the elgi on the wrong side of the bridge, and with slight anticipation he noted that the umgi had nearly broken through the ice. The elgi were huddling around what he guessed was their leader, who was chanting softly and motioning his hands. From it, a whirling vortex the size of an ogre appeared.

Drazhaoth sat up straighter; this was new.

He kicked Cinderbreath to the side so he could get a better view of it.

Arcing his head and mount, he could see the spell more clearly. It was some sort of hole, existing randomly in that set space, that portrayed a different background through it- from the looks of it, a room of some kind.

Drazhoath's eyes glittered with malevolent calculation. It was a portal of some kind, of that he was sure. Such things were virtually unheard of in history, yet as rare as a hobgobblo with a backbone they occasionally popped up among the verminous sorcerers. These portals could allow one to traverse short distances easily, yet always required sacrifice and ritual.

The Elgi before him had just chanted a word or two and it appeared, instantly. Fascinating. What secrets could the elgi provide, what knowledge would he share about the mysteries of his lore?

Of course 'share' was a euphemism for "having the knowledge tortured out' but that was a given in Dawi Zharr culture.

Experimentally, Drazhaoth reached out to the Winds of Magic and expressed a grimace. It was still near bone dry and at most he could get a couple spells out of it. While the Sorcerer-Prophet longed to show these miserable floppy-eared Elgi true magic, it would have to be saved for later like one does a grudge, to be flavored and savored at the right time.

The last of the Kaldorei passed through the portal right as the Northmen, cursing and frustrated, finally managed to tear up the last of the ice slopes. Again their vexation was palpable as the archmage who conjured the portal flashed the Northmen a grin before disappearing through it and closing it right as a Northmen was a moment away.

Almost comically, the warrior was unable to stop his momentum and fell through the gap where the bridge used to be -a forty foot drop.

The Northmen howled, clanged their weapons and made lewd gestures at the elves across the chasm, but they were acts of impotence and both sides knew it.

However, even if the manlings were impotent, the Chaos Dwarf still had some tricks up his sleeve...

* * *

Grateful for the respite, the Kaldorei continued their evacuation, forming portals to their hidden outposts across Suramar, or else moving the artifacts further up to the fortress. Though the outposts were pauper compared to the magnificence of their stronghold, they contained enough space to hold the apprentices, adepts and crew already being sent through, at least for a while.

However, it might not be enough.

With some slight desperation, Mooncaller ordered the portal spells to Val'sharah opened up. If their messengers had been received cordially (an unknown variable; their rustic kin may well have filled them with arrows) or, at least, with something less than total hostility, then the Moonguard commander hoped they could be persuaded to take in refugees. If not the adults, then at least the children...

And so a half dozen more portals opened into the midst of a giant forest, and the non-combatants of the Moonguard fled through them, to be followed by lower ranking individuals and their handful of high ranking instructors.

Mooncaller and the other leaders had hastily decided that a skeleton crew would remain on the uppermost level after the evacuation was complete, in the hopes the Invaders would waste valuable time trying to capture it. Every day they wasted on the stronghold was another reprieve for Val'sharah, and another day for the professional Kaldorei military- the Sentinels- to mobilize.

He looked below and suppressed a quivering nerve. There were so many of them! Already the courtyard was filled to the brim with howling, cursing humans whose numbers crowded out the entrance and filled as far as he could physically see.

By Elune's mercy, their numbers were immense! How the hell did they support so many troops?

*Quake*

*Quake*

*Quake*

The movement could be felt, as much as heard, over the din of clamoring weapons and shouted unintelligible words (no doubt some form of obscenity, Mooncaller thought). The giants- four of them- were moving to the now open space where the bridge was once located.

His brow furrowed; something was off. The giants were not tall enough to climb up upon the terrace, yet were moving with fel purpose all the same. What could they be-

There was a barked command followed by a boom over the din of battle, and Mooncaller's gaze snapped up, to that strange Earthen creature that hovered above on his flying bull. The giants seemed to recoil as if afraid, though how a creature like the earthen managed to instill such terror within creatures over fifteen times his size, the Kaldorei had no idea.

The giants reached up with their hands, grabbing ahold of the edge of the terrace before leaning in.

For a moment the Kaldorei were confused; were the giants trying to push their fortress off the mountain? Then the strategy became clear.

Their backs were lined with various outgrowths - spikes, handles, even bits of oddly shaped flesh. Initially, they seemed to hold no purpose except for some odd intimidation but now their deadly utility was made clear.

Humans were climbing over them, the way southern apes would climb across branches of trees. The spikes and outgrowths were ladders of an ingenious sort. Mooncaller grimaced- the evacuation of this level was not yet complete.

Shouting orders, he and the assembled Moonguard gathered facing the terrace as the first of the humans launched themselves over the hands, only to be blown off by point blank arcane blasts.

Sieges had been rare in the days of the Kaldorei Empire, for of their various enemies only the trolls had cities worth the title, and most of those tribes- like the Zandalari- had folded, awed by the Kaldorei arcane supremacy, before the mage-led armies of the time had put any of their theories on siege warfare into practice.

Still, Mooncaller thought he remembered-and understood- the theory of Siege Warfare. To sum up one of the lessons in order to win an assault (if simply starving the city out was not possible, and magical means were unavailable) required both overwhelming numbers and multiple breaches to exhaust defenders. The Kaldorei acknowledged the overwhelming numerical disparity, but believed that magical might should be enough to hold the invaders off, at least until evacuation of personnel and essential supplies could be completed.

 _And actually_ , he thought as he saw a nearby group of Moonguard defenders lumping together, _it might not be necessary to evacuate at all._

Removing the invaders' means of breaching would work, too.

The Defenders were below him in power and rank but what they lacked in individuality, they could make up by combining their mana together. The power of five channeled into one, combined with the latent power of the Starweaver Sanctum itself and with that, the squad leader of those defenders summoned a massive, tree trunk sized spear of pulsating arcane energy. Then, with the force of a point blank ballista, they directed it at the bowed heads of one of the giants.

The bolt crumpled the metal of the giant's helmet like it was paper and proliferated into the comparatively soft skull below. The giant howled a sort of gibbering sound, reflexively stepping back and instinctively trying to pull the swirling mystical bolt out. The energies marred its fingers, before the weapon itself dissipated into nothingness, as solidified arcane energies were wont to do.

And then it dissipated and air poured into the gaping hole in the giant's head. The giant swayed visibly, before collapsing backward on the unfortunates below.

Grinning, Mooncaller mustered his own magic for a similar strike. If the strange metal giants were going to present their bowed heads and necks for the Kaldorei, who was he not to oblige them?

* * *

Above, the Dwarf cursed and fumed.

The cost of a single slave giant was over 4000 greenskins or 1500 manlings, and to have it armored could well double the price still! True, he may have forced the price out of his underlings, making them pay over all their earnings for each of his dozens of slave giants(and driving quite a few into debt slavery as a result, a invariably fatal prospect in Dawi Zharr society), however the cost would come from his future earnings, as his plan to sell away most of the giants after a successful campaign were now subtracted by one.

Unacceptable.

Drazhoath glared at the figures below.  
He had not intended to use his magic today- better to abstain for future battles to come, then to waste what feeble winds existed in these foreign lands. However, an example would need to be made...

* * *

Another bolt of arcane energy penetrated the skull helmet of a second giant, though this one seemed to have veered slightly, and only carved through its cheek rather than brain. Still, the giant was broken from its position and shook frantically to pull the thing out as the men that had been climbing its back hung on for dear life.

As the Kaldorei mustered mana for a third bolt, a burst of dusty wind from a cloudless sky slammed into them in a whiplash that threw their spellwork off balance. Winds that scraped the skin buffeted them, and black particles - ash- burned whatever they touched. Many had to cover their tearing eyes or curled over trying to hack the foul substance out of their lungs.

Mooncaller too, was on the ground coughing, his squinting eyes narrowing to try to pick out his assailants through the ashen cloud. Yet, he could see little but shapes from the terrace, for it seemed even they were reluctant to enter the vortex.

The archmage half hacked out a spell and, one moment later, a barely luminescent violet shield covered him and his immediate space. Drained from the earlier protection spell from the gate, the shield wouldn't provide much cover if pressed but what it did allow was a safe breathing space.

He altered the spell's permeability to allow his suffering cohorts inside. Free from the oppressive air, they hacked what remained from their lungs as for long moments, only the sound of pained breathing could be heard.

Then, only a minute after the strange ash could had fallen upon them, it dissipated as if it never were.

And in its place, silhouettes turned into images of clarity and from the dispersed clouds stood the forms of dozens of invaders, who definitely _were_. They wore the wrath-lust looks of those denied for so long and eager to take out their frustration on the prey before them.

In a wrath they hurled their weapons and the shield, weak as it was from the overexertion of its conjurer, collapsed under the strain. Most blades were stopped but one- a particularly nasty looked axe- continued forward and claimed the first actual Northman kill of the battle through the chest.

Hurriedly, mages conjured up bolts of arcane along with ice and-

Three mages screamed, as their soot covered forms combusted, a lingering after effect of the ash storm spell. Their piteous screams panicked their allies and brought grins of brutal joy to their enemies. Quick thinking magi conjured water to smother the enflamed, but that just further depleted their offense.

Ice froze the feet of a few cursing defenders while bolts of arcane and icicles proliferated through the chests and sternums of some. Yet there were too few magi casting, and most of the bolts collided with shields instead of flesh, which mostly proved sufficient at blocking or at least limiting the spell damage (though the state of their shields was another matter entirely).

And then the invaders collided like a pouncing nightsaber onto deer.

An echo of the past repeated itself, a flashback of the initial First Contact battle where the mages of the Kirin Tor- so adept at their ranged spells- proved horribly weak at melee combat. Swords and axes parted through Moonguard cloth with anti-climactic ease. A few Moonguard dared pull hidden daggers but they were no better than a child flailing his fists before a trained murderer. In more than one case the mocking Northmen simply wrestled the dagger out of elven hands or grabbed hold of said arms and ended the Kaldorei with their own weapons.

Again the marauders of the Wastes proved that, in melee at least, their kind had _**yet**_ to meet an Azerothian equal.

Three made to tackle Mooncaller, rightfully judging him the leader of this group and thus the being who could give them the most glory by killing. Mooncaller projected an omnidirectional arcane burst but the spell diffused the power of a concentrated bolt too greatly and instead of disintegration only left them knocked on their asses with some mildly burned flesh and smoldering rage. He moved his hands to conjure a more powerful bolt but-

There was no need. The three were riddled with innumerable pine needle sized arcane projectiles but a moment later.

Mooncaller's head turned and he saw the remainder of Serena's hippogryphs- those not part of the air sortie- return, but this time with new riders. There was Serena herself, the magi Elmenus Arcweaver, Cyanna Nightclaw and...

His heart skipped a beat, as the astral-dressed form of Syrana Starweaver descended from the back of her mount. The master and namesake of Starweaver Sanctum- and Mooncaller's wife.

Mooncaller smiled, his heart awash with relief from several sources. Relief for the rescue, relief that the evacuation of this level had proceeded far enough that she felt comfortable leaving it and, most of all, relief at the sight of the women he had married ten millennia ago.

Fresh, prepared, and always one of the most powerful of the order, Starweaver's spells provided relief to the fast-diminished defenders. With an incantation dozens of arrow-sized arcane bolts sped from her fingers with heart stopping speed. The invaders raised their shields and covered their center mass but for every bolt that drove towards their middle, two went for extremities, proliferating outstretched elbows and leg tendons and ankles and more. She conjured winds of pure arcane that dried the skin instantly, enormous globes of the stuff that exploded outwards in a glassing blaze.

Against this newfound assault the invaders wavered, and perhaps may have even retreated without an entirely different type of reinforcement.

The first clue was in the changes in the hands on the giant's back. Whereas before calloused but bare limbs had been the climbers, now there were gauntlets of black iron and cursed steel revealing forms entirely clad in armor straight from the cursed forges of the Dawi Zharr or even the daemons themselves. Flesh bloated through and around their poorly strapped armor, bulging thanks to the gifts of the Grandfather and surrounded by biting flies. A fierce stench permeated the battlefield, leading to many of the elves gagging and even the nostrils of the surviving marauders to turn upwards in involuntary disgust.

The Chaos Warriors, the true masters of the Wastes had arrived, and with them came a change to the battlefield. Covered head to toe in encompassing armor, blessed with shields and mutations and minor amulets, the Chaos Warriors had a protection the marauder tribes dearly lacked. Still, credit must be given to the magic of the arcane, the very element of both creation and (when used by mortal hands) all too often destruction, and within the last few years Azerothian practioners had even used it to obliterate whole towns and a city.

Yet those dark deeds came from superweapons and here even mages such as Starweaver and Mooncaller struggled to put down these walking tanks. Substantially more effort was required to penetrate through their myriad defenses and for every Chaos Warrior so killed or (more likely) just wounded, another five had used the time to climb onto the platform.

Moreover, the warriors moved with surprising speed, and already at least one Kaldorei had been cut down underestimating both the speed and distance of the viper-like lunge of one of the brutes.

"We can't hold them forever, my love. There are just too many!" Mooncaller shouted to his wife, who had succeeded- with an in-ordinarily powerful spell- at blowing up the top half of an encroaching warrior.

Mooncaller shifted from arcane to ice and froze the feet around a small squad of warriors. However he noted with concern that these figures were tougher than their light armored kin and it took only a few hacks and deliberate steps for them to free themselves. Still, exhausted as he was, it was all he could do.

All around, magi and invaders dueled, with the magi trying, for the most part, to keep the enemy back through spell work now, while the enemy- wary of magic and melee armed- tried to find openings to exploit and get closer.

Starweaver's voice was straining from effort but firm in determination.

"We must! My father needs more time!"  
Mooncaller growled

"How much time? We've been fighting for nearly an hour now!"

Starweaver cast another spell that blasted a warrior off his feet and quickly spoke

"Not much longer. My father and his acolytes had finished the most difficult portions of the ritual before I left. "

Mooncaller, still annoyed, complained "And why should it take an hour to power up our protection system? That seems like something we should have readily at all times."

Starweaver paused enough to shoot him a glare "I am surprised one who keeps to their dusty old tomes as much as you hasn't read of Tolseth's Principle of Mana Transfer."

Mooncaller scowled- of course he knew of that old rule, which stated that an open mana system would gradually leak out arcane energies to the nearby environment, thereby losing magical potency over time.

Though artifacts and certain magical objects were closed mana systems- meaning they could retain magical energy and thus potency for startlingly large periods of time so long as they were not drained by use- the defenses of a sprawling fortress-compound was, by definition of needing to continuously interact with the outside environment(i.e. defend and acquire energy to power such defense), an open mana system and without the near inexhaustible well of energy that the Nightwell provided Suramar, the Moonguard couldn't power the defenses in perpetuity like with the shielded city.

Yes he got that but-

Unfortunately, Starweaver interrupted him "We could have powered it already of course, but the magical signature would have been too large to mask by the illusion spell. So it was either the defenses or the illusions, which proved useless anyway. "

She shot him another glare and he cringed, regretting his council vote. So instead of speaking, he hastily downed one of the mana potions held in one of his pockets. The fast acting drink wouldn't fully recharge his faculties, but it would help.

Another voice cried out before being abruptly snuffed, the elven head that spoke rolling several feet away from its corpse. Mooncaller felt despair swell up within him as he gazed upon the boy's features in recognition. It was of Siliath Skygrove, a young apprentice of the last few decades who was a frequent visitor to the library, and was always courteous to the librarians.

Despair turned into hate and Mooncaller found enough of it in his heart to fire a powerful enough arcane bolt to spear the shielded defender through his exposed iron covered leg. The creature roared as a chunk of its leg was proliferated and glassed. The warrior fell then made a feeble gesture to get up that only resulted in him collapsing onto his face.

Mooncaller savagely hoped that the enemy force lacked healers and that, if he was not fortune enough to see the other's death, then at least he would live the rest of his life as a cripple, in revenge for such wanton killing.

Then more cries in the air, more laden with agony or eerily cut off. The invaders drew from the example of the first and came to the conclusion so many Azerothians warriors had- that, rather than waiting for openings, it was best to simply huddle down behind protection and charge in. The Moonguard used a variety of short ranged teleports, illusion spells, smaller violet shields and bursts of arcane energy to try to keep them back, but they were hounded now and the tide was very clearly in favor of the invaders.

"Lorthius" his beloved called "we need something to stand in the way of their blades!"

Of course, the guardians! Elements of Arcane, they were so-so fighters but good assistants in a clinch.

He didn't even have to draw from his personal mana to summon the creatures, instead tapping into some of the arcane crystals that often served as night lighting of the Sanctum. Linked to the tapped residue of a bound elemental, these were often used as menial assistance by the Moonguard in times of need.

And now, with an ancient attack command, they were turned into soldiers.

Without fear, hesitation, thought or consideration, the elementals rushed towards the intruders. The only deviance was in manner of attack, where some drew upon the magic latent within their own forms while others simply went in bare fisted, their strength still powerful enough to easily crush bone and tear limbs.

The Northmen momentarily stopped in surprise at the appearance of man sized floating creatures unlike any they had ever seen appearing out of nowhere to attack them. However, they were the marauders of the north, and no surprise, no tactic or deterrence of the south had ever discouraged them for long before. Death and destruction were currency to their gods, and power and immortality were their rewards, and before that calculus nothing would ever dissuade them.

The Northmen - warriors and marauders both- hacked into the elementals with truly wild abandon, each blow of their mighty black blades carving scythes through the fleshless beings. Trained killers, they aimed for the center mass and heads, the vital areas of the body, while the most sadistic among them hit the lowest portions of the center mass. Just like a month prior with the sons of Norsca, the Kurgan and Easterners here knew not to aim for the gauntlets that bound their form, and instead wasted time and energy on insubstantial portions.

The arcane elementals shrugged off these blows all and reached out with crushing limbs of pure creation that burned then disintegrated under their grip. Men were left howling with limbs ruined beyond all repair however the tide was still in the Northmen's favor, for though more resistant to mortal blows than normal humanoids, they were not immune to it and eventually the quantity of blows would achieve the same effect a qualitative one could.

Meanwhile, the Kaldorei were picking up their wounds and retreating, pausing only to shoot off spells at those Northmen who saw through the ruse and attempted to follow. When the Kaldorei at last rounded the corner from the Northmen, trapping runes were laid that would give a nasty surprise to any pursuer.

They needn't have bothered for the preparations for the Astromancer had succeeded in powering his keystone and with that, every defense and failsafe of the Moonguard Stronghold was activated.

* * *

The world lit up in a hue of violet. The spires glowed purple and unleashed giant arcs of energy at all nearby that its magically constructed intelligence was told to perceive as hostile. Inactive arcane crystals glowed hot as every elemental bound to it emerged with a single command on the wind- kill. Mutated plants erupted from the new befouled gardens, lashers with razor-thorned limbs and poisonous pollen. Every trap and rune long carved into a building or pathway was made active.

When compared against the horde of the Maggot Lord, the fiery inferno that had engulfed so much of their fortress, it was but a drop in the bucket of course. The numbers and durability of the mutation enhanced Northmen and their monsters was simply too great. The arcane elementals and lashers were hacked to pieces, the traps overwhelmed by the seemingly endless surge, even the spires themselves torn down by steel-coated giants or the aethyric blasts of the Chaos Dwarfs.

But what these defenses did give the defenders was time. Time to retreat to the last and final level of the Moonguard fortress, where a smaller version of the city-sized mana shield that protected Suramar covered. Enchanted to be permeable to fleeing Kaldorei, these barriers shut like hot steel gates that burned if anyone else tried to cross. Adding to this defense was the fact that the only bridge to the final redoubt was destroyed as soon as the last Kaldorei crossed and the fast moving stream below sped water over the cliff. Any giant that tried to straddle the gap risked a long fall...

The Moonguard was safe, for the moment at least.

* * *

The horde shouted their insults and clamored their weapons, but once again was faced with magically enhanced impotency. None of their mortal weapons could penetrate the barrier and, though the Dawi artillery or Chaos Dragonfire might eventually, they hadn't managed to yet. Which left the horde sullen before another emotion took over- fear.

The Lord of the Maggot Host had sat, wrathful and brooding, during the assault, which had been conducted spontaneously and without any real sense of tactics and directions. While Tamurkhan conceded he might have ordered the assault anyway, had he known the hidden fortress was there, to plunder it and test the powers of the natives of this land, the fact was it had been launched without his specific command, a spur of the moment decision by an overly excited mass, and for that the Nurgle warlord was determined to make an example of those who led the exodus.

No one knew who exactly broke from the horde first, but Tamurkhan remembered the first banner to run forward- that of the Blighted Axe. All of the roughly 250 that remained, for the Blighted Axe had been decimated by the bombing of the gate, were enslaved, sold to the Chaos Dwarfs or sacrificed to the gods, with their protesting, howling leader used as part of a plea for direction from the Grandfather.

After that little display many of those clamoring for the further destruction of the enemy fortress fell silent, reluctant to invoke their lord's wrath.

Once again the main instigator of the disruption, Sayl, was untouched, for as he pointed out in his pleas he only meant to illuminate a hidden foe for the Chaos warlord and, once he heard Tamurkhan giving the order to halt, he kept his forces in line to obey the command. Not one Dolgan broke ranks, he declared proudly.

Though Tamurkhan dearly wanted to throw the Dolgan chieftain into the darkest, deepest, most acidic Nurglite pool he was once again reluctant too, for after the Dawi Zharr and Tamurkhan's own Nurglites Sayl led the third largest block in the army, composed of both the Dolgan tribe themselves (with their mighty mammoths) and most of those now who didn't follow the Grandfather, all united in loose coalition with one universally regarded as treacherous. In fact most outright hated Sayl and made their contempt known, yet when Tamurkhan sent his own feelers for potential alliances, they clung close to Sayl like a newborn mammoth calf to its mother.

Tamurkhan reflected that the politics of Chaos could be as hazardous and toxic as any nation of order, even the labyrinthine bureaucratic factions of Cathay. He had always hated that kind of politicking in contrast to his brother Koblakhan- with his Slaanesh-backed charisma- or Subotakhan, who had convoluted schemes to match any.

Still, Tamurkhan's overall will prevailed once more. His only allowance to the contrary was permission given to Drazhoath for his Dawi Zharr to garrison the lower levels of the strange stronghold, provided no more than one quarter of the Dawi Zharr- and one tenth of the artillery- took part. Predictably Drazhoath haggled for another hour or two, speaking of the magical lore that would more than make up reimbursement for the expedition and the need to prevent the enemy from escaping to warn any other forces in this land. Eventually, Tamurkhan agreed to the Dwarf's suggestion of 1/5 of the artillery remain behind, though that was more to prevent his ogre-sized headache from getting worse than any other reason.

The march to the land of forests, the giant World Tree seen in his vision, resumed immediately. He gave his men no rest, for they deserved none.

* * *

 _Dozens of miles away a pair of Kaldorei stepped out from the forest to the banks of the Emerald Reach river which split the forests of Suramar from the more verdant of Val'sharah. Despite the fall of night, they could see the clouds of smoke and suffering that hung in the air, blocking the gaze of the moon. One rode on a massive frostsaber, the other morphed his form from a stag to an elf._

 _Champions of legend both, they had answered the call of the priestesses of Elune, who had received dreams of doom and danger from their mistress which were further compounded by the sudden warnings of a monastic order many thought lost to the ancient past. When the pair had presented themselves, individually, and asked what they could do to help the starry eyed priestesses practically tripped over themselves stuttering._

 _Even the acolytes of Elune, Goddess of the Moon, could be rendered as starstruck by celebrities as much as any other mortal. One of the pair was renowned as one of the most powerful druids on the planet, superseded only the likes of Malfurion and Cenarius, a hero who had fought alongside the High King, battled the nightmare in its own domain and helped avert the downfall of the world._

 _And the other was more famous still._

 _Neither had wanted the positions the Priestesses begged them to take, for neither hero sought power and indeed, were repelled by the weight of responsibility that came with it. However there were none in the entire province of Val'shara as skilled as they, and the priestesses impressed upon them that, if anyone else took command, they would do a far worse job._

 _And so they were here, to command against the unknown. However, this was not their first act._

 _Two figures dropped from the clouded skies. One was a hippogryth, on whom rode one of the riders that the Moonguard had managed to spirit away from the enscrolled Moonguard sanctuary; the other a very large crow, her form as deceptive as the stags._

 _After they had reached the ground the hippogryth rider dropped from her mount and, with the exasperated air of one who had ridden hard to reach them, spoke in a single breath_

 _ **"My lords"-**_ _an antiquated honorific in Kaldorei society, who hadn't had nobility for millennia "the Moonguard are under siege and an army soon marches on your province._ _ **Their host is vast, and they cover the horizon in a diseased tide when they move. You must-"**_

 _ **"- muster our armies and break your siege? You, our kin who we have neither seen nor heard of for many millennia, now call upon our aid?"**_ _The first spoke, with a hint of contempt._

 _The Moonguard, young by the standards of her order, bristled but maintained her composure_

 _ **"No. Our stronghold, barring the inner sanctuary, has fallen. Those inside are only still there to evacuate the priceless relics of our people**_ _"there was an emphasis there_ _ **" so that these invaders don't befoul them. No, I come only to warn you of the danger so that you may spare Val'shara of our fate."**_ _  
The lord on the saber mount kept his silence, but the druid did not. Long had has life been marred by foul magic and fouler sorcerers and though he had come to concede that not every non-druidic practitioner was evil, he did believe they were misguided and ever at risk by the corruptive energies they wielded._

 _ **"While your warning is appreciated, and I truly regret the loss you have undoubtedly suffered, there is something I have to know. Did the Moonguard, perhaps accidentally, bring these invaders into Azeroth, just like your predecessors had in the-"**_

 _Her emotions brought to an edge by the events of the past day and the implied insults against her home, the young Kaldorei couldn't stop herself from erupting in annoyance_

 _ **"We are not the Highborne! Show some respect, druid, for the Moonguard fought against Azshara and her servants as hard as any other group. Your precious druids did not yet exist and without us, the Legion's spellcasters would have overwhelmed our people's resistances! We had nothing to do with this incursion."**_

 _Before the druid could respond, she couldn't stop from sniping_

 _ **"Perhaps you should ask your allies the same question."**_

 _The druid's eyes narrowed in confusion as the druidess, who knew what the Moonguard spoke of, tensed a little. The Druid looked at his counterpart, who reluctantly spoke_

 _ **"There were a lot of humans in the host, Shan'do. More than I had ever seen outside of Stormwind."**_

 _The druidess knew that the other druid's best friend was a human, so the admission was made with reluctance, but it was seized upon by the young Moonguard_

 _ **"An army of humans, druid! And that's not all! Amongst their ranks are those fleshy earthen creatures you allied with-"**_

 _ **"Dwarfs"**_ _the Druidess interjected quietly  
_ _ **"Dwarfs"**_ _she finished. "_ _ **What does that say about your choice of allies, hmm? Honestly, the Moonguard could never figure out why Tyrande and Malfurion decided to ally with them in the first place. "**_

 _The Druid responded with his own ire_

 _ **" I did not see the Moonguard when the Kaldorei fought Archimonde for the fate of the world at the slopes of Mount Hyjall, or in Ashenvale when Horde despoilers sought to plunder our lands, or in the Nightmare War where the Emerald Dream itself was at stake. I did, however, see Humans and Dwarfs and at every point, despite the fact their lands were an ocean away, they stood with us. King Varian himself even led the armies that purged Ashenvale of the Horde menace!"**_

 _He pointed at the Moonguard magi, who had crossed her arms_

 _ **"They have been far better allies than you, our own kin, and I won't hear such disrespectful remarks against them. "**_

 _The argument would have continued if the elf on the mount didn't at last speak_

 _ **"Perhaps these are the humans' Naga? We don't speak of those abominations, and perhaps the humans prefer the same. "**_

 _There was a collective grimace at that name, for no Kaldorei, isolated monk order or not, liked hearing about the monstrous race of their former queen, Azshara. The mounted man moved the conversation forward_

 _ **"Acolyte, in my day the Moonguard was the main police force of the entire Empire. You had spells that could determine crowd sizes in case of riot. Could you do the same here, as well?"**_

 _The mage, momentarily taken aback by the rider's knowledge of the order, hastily nodded in affirmation_

 _ **"Yes! I took the liberty of doing so on the way. Though I must warn you, lord, you won't like the answer."**_

 _ **"Speak it."**_

 _And she did. A figure so large as to cause his druid compatriot to curse in disbelief, to complain that the Moonguard was exaggerating things. A look to the druidess, however, confirmed that once again, she was telling the truth._

 _The rider blanched- even with all the remaining active duty Sentinels in Val'sharah under his command, he would be lucky to have 1/30th of that!_

 _And it got worse, as the rider asked for a rough description of the horde_

 _ **"The humans and dwarfs of the host have been altered by some foul magic and turned into something as foul as any satyr! The humans seem as maddened as fel-blackened furbolgs, and the dwarfs, though as silent as a forlorn forest, glimmer with hate and sadism like nothing I have ever seen. And that is just the beginning- I saw hulking brutes three times the size of a human carrying weapons our size, towering tree sized colossi armored in steel, monsters that were indescribable and strange artillery that make the air scream as it passes. "**_

 _The mage looked down and curled her fists-  
_ _ **"Even after preparing for ten thousand years for the next invasion, all but the inner sanctum of our fortress was overwhelmed within a few hours. I hope your Wild Gods can show up, my lord, because short of that I don't know what you can do to stop it."**_

 _For long moments, the rider sat thinking, contemplating, processing with the same sort of detached analyzation that had aided him so well in the past. Then, he looked at his druidic companion_

 _ **"Broll, I know Val'sharah is sacred to your orders. Second to Moonglaide. How many druids do you think are in the province?"  
**_ _Broll closed his eyes in thought for a moment_

 _"_ _ **Thousands at least. Maybe even more. But as I said earlier it would take some time before the enclaves are located and the druids awakened. And I don't know if it will be enough. "**_

 _ **"It won't"**_ _he spoke matter-a-factually, as calmly as he would any other subject._ _ **"Only Darnassus can, and I have been informed by a messenger traveling by portal from the High Priestess that they are mobilizing their armies as we speak. It will still take time however, for even a brilliant organizer like Shandris still has to mobilize the reserves, the ships, and supplies, figure out who to pull from the front etc. Still, they promised to be here within a month."**_

 _There were smiles of relief from the druidess and even the Moonguard, who despite her antipathy to the High Priestess and her kin still recognized the power they commanded._

 _Broll, however, was silent_

 _ **"And how long do you think it would take the invaders to reach the World Tree, or the Temple of Elune, Jarrod?"**_

 _Jarrod frowned_

 _ **"Ideally, a Sentinel army could make the journey in as little as a week, but with all the monsters in their horde, it may take them three times as much. Hundreds of miles still separate the Moonguard Stronghold from the Temple of Elune. "  
**_ _Mentally, more calculations were done and as concerned Jarrod came to his conclusion_

" _ **Given the central path that cuts through the province, I do not think that the Sentinel Fleet will make it in time to save the Temple. We would be lucky if they arrived before the horde reached the World tree. "**_

 _He looked at Broll, then the others_

" _ **If this province is to be saved, we must delay them at all costs. I …think it can be done, though I need the help of all the druid orders. "**_

 _Broll nodded_

" _ **Agreed. I will send messengers out to the enclaves right away. "**_

 _He looked at the druidess, who evidently was going to be a messenger. Jarrod, however, turned to the Moonguard_

" _ **Elune-Adore, kinsmen. I apologize for the circumstances of our meeting- I never agreed with the ban on the studies of the arcane. Your words were correct- the Kaldorei Resistance would have faltered without the Moonguard. However times are changing; our new allies and the return of the Highborne prove this. I believe our split people can become one once more. "**_

 _The acolyte looked at the commander with skepticism that belied the private hopes in her heart. Yet there was something else she had heard_

" _ **I heard him call you "Jarod". What is your last name, my lord?"**_

 _Inwardly, Jarod sighed, knowing what was coming_

" _ **Shadowsong."**_

 _The acolyte fell to her knees in shock, recognition and awe. Jarod's inward sigh turned outward; the embarrassment of a man who hated his own stardom ._

 _ **"Lor-rdd Shadowsong in the flesh! By Elune, this is a true honor! We learned all about you and your heroism in the War of the Ancients through the tales of other Moonguard veterans. They call you the true hero of that war, not Tyrande or Malfurion. Is it true that you dueled Archimonde himself for hours?"**_

 _Exasperated Jarod spoke_

" _ **Well no, none of that is true-Tyrande, Malfurion, Krasus and Brox are the true heroes of that conflict, not I. "**_

 _She smiled up at him, her expression now oddly affectionate "_ _ **The same stories spoke of your unordinary humbleness my lord and I am heartened to see that is true. "**_

 _She stood up, still gazing at him_

" _ **I have confidence now that no matter how large or foul these invaders are, under your leadership we will make Val'sharah their tomb."**_

 _High above, a shade held aloft and imperceptible sneered at the creatures below._

 _Weaklings he silently called them. Creatures of some minor magical talent and artifice. They would have died out early if they had been born on the wastes of his homeland and would last shorter still against the hordes of Tamurkhan._

 _I_ _ **wouldn't be so sure of that**_ _, whispered a silky voice,_ _ **you see that rider mounted below? He has defeated stronger armies than yours.**_

 _The sneer grew into an expression of hate. The daemon had returned to haunt him, and it seemed like not one of his warding spells could repel him. He could turn, seeking to regard or even destroy his tormentor, but past experience had taught him such actions would only hit empty air._

 _The voice laughed, gentle and rich_

 _ **Daemon? No demon am I, though I suppose I might have been counted as such once. That was a long time ago and I have since found older patrons.**_

 _He was silent, trying to focus on the gathering below and silently hoping that he could banish the creature- daemon or not- with sheer force of will._

 _ **Banish me? But you've had that power all along! All creatures dream, Sayl, and when you return to the waking world we shall part once more. Though you shall come back to me as both mortals and immortals alike always do.**_

 _This was so ridiculous that he had to respond._

 _ **For the last time begone, creature! You are no dream, for dreams do not return night after night to harass, bother and haunt the sleeper.**_

 _There was silence and then with mirth the voice responded_

 _ **Well, a certain**_ _ **form**_ _ **of dream certainly does.**_

* * *

Galar'thus Rivertree- Leader of the Moonguard

Thalrenus Rivertree- Descendant, groomed successor

Mooncaller- Archmage, Chief Librarian of the Moonguard

Syrana Starweaver- Archmage, wife of Mooncaller, in charge of Starweaver Sanctum

Windfeather sisters(Serena, Lyrea & Kailea)- in Charge of Hippogrytphs

* * *

 **TREATISE: MAGIC & MIGHT IN WARCRAFT**

(This is a long response to a review elsewhere, that I decided was worth publishing for my thoughts on general magic-non magic interactions.)

On Magic & Might: One of the complaints of Warcraft is, in a world where magic users are common (in contrast to Warhammer, where they are rare) what point is there to melee? In imagining such a bout one might imagine the infamous scene against the Lizardmen in the popular anime Overlord, where the Lich-casting fireballs- scythes through Lizardmen after Lizardmen before heroes finally put him down (with difficulty). I myself have asked the question and done some research.

As stated previously, Warhammer magic is more powerful than the typical Warfcraft spellcaster (exceptions like Jaina, Khadgar, Nelf leaders all exist) can cast but its casters are far, far rarer. Warcraft magic, though common, is less powerful (again, barring exceptions) and thus spells like fireball or ice spike are mostly meant for single person or small group combat.

Now let's look at the most common fighters of the Alliance Horde- The Footman & the Grunt. In the case of the former, you have a steel coated warrior further armed with a steel shield, while the latter's armor varies upon depiction (some relatively bare, while others covered in full iron) and are superhuman to boot(Note: Some fans theorize Warcraft humans are *slightly* superhuman). In the case of the former, the fireball may not be hot enough to melt steel (2500F/1510 C) and while getting hit in the chest by a fireball would still hurt a footman, I don't think a weaker fireball would kill him. And yes, the same is true for an orc, even a lightly armored one.

In part this is because humans, contrary to what movies show, aren't inherently flammable; they generally don't burst into flame upon contact with fire. We are not made of kerosene. This is a reason why, historically, fire arrows were considered ineffective as anti-personnel and, when used against people, it was generally done to inflict terror rather than actual death. Those hit by fire arrows directly often had good odds to survive, or at least used to my research. They were instead primarily used to inflict property and ambient damage.

So even to an unarmored warrior a typical fireball would deliver a lot of burn damage, lot of pain, be knocked off his feet possibly by the initial blast but not necessary death immediately. Particularly for a superhuman orc. I think death is certainly more likely given the fact that the size of a fireball (think soccer ball, but could be larger) definitely means a greater burn area than a fire arrow, however as magic is common in Warcraft, so is magical healing, and from my notes burn damage is well within the capacity of magic to heal (things like dismemberment are not, barring rare rituals). Ditto for an Ice Spike, which would be like throwing a spear at a orc that also deals some slight hypothermia/burning (Because ice "burns" too) but otherwise still leave the orc alive, depending on the area of impact(obviously not if a headshot), and very, very pissed off.

Now before moving on I do have to talk about the arcane. The Arcane is...weird. It the magic of creation itself and is an instrument used across the entire breadth of the mage's spell book. That means that that mages aren't casting straight water and fire spells by appealing or taking control of the elements directly like a shaman- they are using the arcane as a tool to take command of those elements, or possibly even convert one source of raw energy to something like thermal (for fire).

In terms of direct effects though, arcane magic seems to be compared to both radiation and, in concentrated enough dosages, seems to 'glass' them, turning them to into unmoving echoes of themselves that break apart into ash upon touch. This is shown in the novel Tides of War, where Jaina returns to Theramore after the bombing. This same scene makes the radiation comparison more explicit as she is told both that it is dangerous to be there after the blast and is already irridated from being caught somewhat in the blast. Most notably her hair and eyes change but it is theorized by many fans that the arc-radiation boosted her powers immensely, which from research isn't scientific in the slightest but is nevertheless a common fantasy trope (see *Hulk*, Superman etc.).

For those reasons I do think arcane magic would count as armor-piercing, as radiation tends to ignore all but specialized body armor. However, certain arrows are also armor piercing when shot through a Mongolian composite bow or English longbow, yet if you tried to hand toss it through the armor of a plate armored knight he would just laugh at you. Alternately, shooting a knight with an armor-piercing arrow from one of those bows at a great distance is unlikely to penetrate the armor, as a lot of energy would have been lost, while short ranged attacks are more likely to hit. Thus, while I think the glassing ,radioactive effect of the arcane would do more damage than a fireball or ice bolt to an armored footman (or chaos warrior), the armor isn't rendered useless.

Now it needs to be said that, as with all things, power levels between spells and mages can vary greatly. A mage that amplifies the heat of its fireball to melt steel or else explode like a small grenade, turn the icicle into an enormous ballista bolt and launch it with the power of one or unleash giant, Kamehameha arcane blasts like Khadgar in Karazan. That is something I have tried to show in the Archmages featured in my story so far, though skilled magi should also come close to such power. However, they are exceptions rather than general rules.

However this comes to my main point that, other than the noted exceptions, non-magic users, even melee ones, are not entirely useless against magic users. We can actually see this in the manga _Crusader's Blood_ , where a powerful undead warrior fights a powerful blood elf mage, and with his magic shield is able to close the distance pretty fast, fend off her spells (she was a firemage) and get into melee. I think it's clear he would have won that battle, had it continued. And it should also be noted that, in Azeroth, just as magic is common so too are magical enchantments, weapons, armor and the like, so one could make the argument a magical shield would be better at defending from magic than a normal one, adding a lair of protection and even allowing them to counter, somewhat, some of the more powerful examples of magic above (that said, lore wise, I would bet that the most powerful magic users are better than the most powerful melee).

Bringing this back to Chaos the ordinary marauder is less armored than a footman and less superhuman than a orc and lacks the overall experience with magic, for in Chaos society magic users usually occupy upper echelons and have many bodyguards in battle. Too they are viewed as using the powers of the gods, so there is a bit of a religious reluctance to go against them at times (not that this ultimately stops the Northmen). Thus, on an individual level, they didn't handle magic users as well as Azerothian users did and were more hesitant where the warrior in _Crusader's Blood_ was deliberate and bold. This began to change when the Chaos warriors came and thus I showed them as doing better against the magic users, but still taking causalities as their enemies are primary arcane users and have several powerful magi in their number.

* * *

 **FIN & FUTURE STUFF**

Sorry for the delay, all! Over the last few months I have been subject to quite a few major (all positive) life changes including a very nice job. I have also been trying to finish up multiple writing pieces so I can get a more consistent publishing schedule. Unfortunately, I didn't quite achieve that goal though I am pleased to announce that I have finished a whole codex and an accompanying short story that will be published later on. Speaking of which, I will to detail the types of stories that I intend to publish over the next year

 **Chronicles-** War Story anthropologies, the same as I have been doing. However, at times I might mix the formula up, shifting focus from a singular campaign to brief blurbs about events going around all over the globe(s)

 **Army Lists** \- Brief listings with some unit and hero lore for specific and isolated armies. An example would be Omedakhan's army or Subotakhan's inner circle or the Ghosts of Azsuna. These figures are mostly specific to this campaign in importance, though a few might appear again elsewhere.

 **Codex-** Full codex for individual factions. These are far larger than above, with a full listing of units and heroes and the like written in the style of a Warhammer Armybook. Right now I have a thirty five thousand word Fiendbeast codex almost entirely finished, split between lore and units. As asecondary objective of my writing is to expand the world of Malus and Azeroth, I intend to go further in the future to both semi-familiar factions like Cathay and Ind, to unfamiliar like the aforementioned Fiendbeasts and the Southern Islands (Fantasy Polynesia) and Azeroth factions, like the Sentinels or the Forsaken. The Kirin Tor will, one day, be expanded into a codex.

 **Short Stories** \- See Twin Legions

 **Treatise-** Brief, 2-3k blurbs on a subject, with one coming up providing some brief detail of Val'shara such as an overview to its population.

With that said, now onto the Review responses!

* * *

 **REVIEW RESPONSE**

First, thank you all for your reviews!

 **Ronmr** \- Good Question. I think they might be circumspect, for both Chaotic skinwolves and the so-called Children of Ulric exist in their universe

 **DIOS de la Nada** \- While it won't occur for a long time, the religious...differences is something I hope to explore. Particularly with the Light. On the Horde side, I don't think it will be much of an issue, as the light worshipping Blood Elves have remarkable tolerance for the tribalistic beliefs of their Western Allies, along with the 'unholy' undead (a few of which do worship the light) so they probably won't much a problem with the beliefs of whoever they worship.

WIth the Alliance its interesting as a key bond between the factions is the fact that virtually everyone worships the Light or some deity who some prominent light figures believe is heavily related to the Light (Khadgar & Velen believe as such with Elune) . With the new gods, I expect the followers of the Light would try to record many of them as 'champions' of the light as possible. Perhaps they might even incorporate some auxilliary teachings, like Myrmidia's emphasis on battlefield strategy, into some auxilliary texts, but fundamentally I can't see more than a handful of the practioners of the Light worshipping someone like Sigmar, Ulric etc. VIewing them as inspirations possibly, but not active worship. This is simply because of the omnipresence of the Light in the Warcraft universe. I will note that while you might have individuals saying the Light is weak, evil or something like that in WC, absolutely no one denies its existence whereas quite a few(most notably, Archaon) deny the existence of Sigmar, Ulric or the like.

Having not researched too into detail yet, my impression is Azeroth will have less problems incorporating aspects of the Empire's religion than vice versa.

Nations like the Empire and Brettonia are probably going to have a major crisis on their hands when it comes to the Light. While neither have problems having the cults of other gods in their realms, both derive their primary legitimacy from Sigmar (to a much lesser extent, Ulric) and the Lady respectively. Anything that threatens that is a threat to a major organ of the state.

Now imagine their reactions when a fresh new religion comes in from beyond their world. Unlike other religons of the land, which rely near universally on faith, with miracles few and far between and often subtle when they do sometimes occur, the main adherents of this religon can perform miracles near universally on command, and these miracles are bright, clear and impossible to deny the existence of. In other words this religon is no longer something that can purely be measured by faith, but something physical, visible and verifiable. It is near impossible to deny the existence of the Light without lying to yourself, while the more sporadic and subtle blessings can be treated with more scepticism from the view of the average citizen.

This presents a rather large threat to ruling cults of the Empire and Brettonia, a religion capable of luring the desperate, those looking for a faith and the skeptical alike. In the long run, it might be able to somewhat counteract Chaos's influence better than traditional cults (for example: A mutant turns to Elune or the Light rather than Nurgle or Tzeentch for help) but in the short run it might well lead to a massive drop in adherents.

I think the Empire and Brettonia would try to limit the spread of these religion as much as possible...however, nations like Tilea might be more open.

 **MadFrog2000** Thank you my friend. In the distant future, you might get a chapter or two of that!

 **Evowizard** Not going to lie, my desire to make the back and forth between the Night Elves and Tamurkhan in in the forests of Val'shara is kind of a reason why I took a long time to put this one out, as I didn't want to put something out without another thing following behind. So far I have written nearly 8k words for the next chapter, but I want to cover the back and forth well as Jarrod and Tamurkhan both use all their tactics available to them.

 **HappyVampire** \- It is a shame, a shame that has only increased now that CA has announced they won't be doing any Araby/Albion etc DLC.

Hmm I will have to look up Alluminas, however as speculated above I think there might be some competition for followers, a competition Sigmar/Lady, despite their entrentched status, might meet some problems given that Light worshippers can pretty much miracle spam. That said, outside of competition for worshippers, I can see some collaborative events like what you describe on the battlefield, but off the battlefield there might be some uncomfortable rivarlies particularly if the Grand Theologonist petitions the Emperor to ban Light missionary work throughout the Empire. Karl Franz is going to need to do some delicate balancing...

As for Alliance/Horde vs. Empire, you can see the beginning of my analysis in the review section for Piepers Pipers. Specifically, I think pre-modern form of formation-based warfare is going to run into problems with Warcraft's numerous technological and magical assets, and though the Empire likely has great numbers behind it, I do not think they can overcome said assets, and are near gaurenteed to lose more causialties than they take every single battle, win or lose. Both the Alliance/Horde are more flexible, adaptive and are used to beating enemies rapidly as shown by their timeline of rogue's galleries. Though I do not think the Alliance would want, in the slightest, to conquer the Empire I see them forcing a peace that favors them greatly within a few months while the Horde under Sylvanas would likely be a brutal campaign as she seeks to raise as many Forsaken as possible and spams the Blight option even more than they did against the Alliance.

The Horde has shown remarkable tolerance to undead before, with their leader literally undead and though they were a little concerned by it, they did not revolt when Sylvanas tried to bring in the San'Layen this expansion. Likely, they would dismiss many of the negative claims the Alliance/Empire makes as 'human propganda' just as they would Empire claims that the Tauren are 'barbarous warp-spawned abominations of man', that the trolls are 'drooling idiots incapable of building a campfire much less a civilization' , the Orcs "monstrous fungus who live only to fight" and other such outlandish claims. I would also assume that if the Vampire leader (Vlad, Mannfred, Neferata etc) had any sort of cunning whatsoever that they would quitely urge their followers to tamp down on their more...exotic tendencies in front of their Horde allies with punishment to follow those who break that edict. Just as it is with the Forsaken.

Now the Alliance is likely to believe such warnings and it would embolden the Warhawks, but I doubt the Horde would break out into civil war over this issue. At worst its a step that leads to that civil war over time.

 **The True Skull** \- I agree...just as the presence of Beastmen (Tauren) in the order might cause problems, to say nothing of the varied races in the Priest Order Hall.

 **Tarrangar -** I think you misunderstand Warhammer model scales. As shown by Appendix 2 of the Warhammer 5th Edition Rulebook, 1 model on tabletop equals roughly 10 in lore. So a Spell that wipes out 5-6 models of a regiment is assumed to kill 50-60 people in lore. Or, in this case, a Warcraft mage that wipes out a enemy model is assumed to kill between 1-10 people.

In addition, I am looking at EVERYTHING when it comes to sources. Not just gameplay, but the scripted moments, the cutscenes, the novels, the cinematics, the short stories, comics, manga, dev comments etc. While I have found quite a bit of evidence of the Blizzard's use, I haven't found evidence of the archmage level spells shown by Jaina in the BOL, Khadgar in the Warcraft 2 novelization or Archmage Roan(Sp?) of the Scarlet Crusade in Ashbringer being regularly used. All of which clearly killed dozens at once and covered a very wide area. Thus I did not find enough evidence to justify giving apprentices equivalent to what an Archmage can do though I used rather blanket terms while talking about ice, water and fire and you are free to imagine a blizzard or arcane explosion here or there among non-Arcmage spellwork- they just don't do as much damage nor is the range as great as a Archmage proper.

Rest assured, I do not intend to shy away from Warcraft's more gamebreaking aspects. In fact, I intend to embrace the wacky tech and magic as much as possible and there WILL be imbalances in the Warhammer system as a result, which isn't built to handle all these aspects.

Regarding Sylvanas I feel that if she was going to sail the daemon ship, she would have done so. The Burning Legion was capable of granting her anything Warhammer Chaos could and she didn't even consider pursuing them. My impression of her character is she definately wants her eternal life, but is too prideful to grovel before others. She wants it on her own terms and, personally, I think it is more likely for her to seek out alliances with the Vampire Counts than Chaos.

 **Carre**

2\. Amazons Ill have something for, eventually.

3\. Well sure, I think a lot of them are tired of war. However their leaders remain popular and I don't think they would counterance throwing them into harms way. Moreover, the factions tend to blame the other side for the conflict and view themselves as the aggrieved party (rightly or wrongly) with the other faction being filled with belligerent monsters/self-righteous dogs respectively.

Also there are some cultural issues as well unique to the Alliance and Horde. For the Horde, their sense of honor and belief that they are the strongest means they are extremely reluctant to accept anything else than what is basically White Peace or Victory. Many on the Alliance have some sort of "hyper-militant" sense of justice that manifested prominently in the War of the Black Portal where, after learning that the Orcs wanted to leave the Alliance alone and instead invade elsewhere, the leaders of the Alliance continued their war with a renewed vigor, as, in their own words, 'they didn't want others to suffer as they have". Very, very few nations in fiction or reality are willing to adapt that attiude over what are basically complete strangers.

No faction is a monopoly of course, and these are just some of the ideologies for both the Alliance and Horde.

So some leaders on the Horde believe they are militaristically the best and strongest and entitled to what that implies and some on the Alliance have an extremely proactive view of threats and justice and are unwilling to ever back down. Add to that historical grievances such as genocide, competing strategic interests, racism, cultural attitudes and a belief that to 'kick the can' down the road to their children is inherently dishonorable.

The problem isn't just that some of the leaders want war; I actually think if the Alliance and Horde were democracies they would be fighting more than they do now, as I believe the populace- with even less experience with the other faction than the leaders and/or adventurers- actually hates the other side more than their leaders.

B. Sorry, want to keep my thoughts on WHF for now.

C. Definitely the 7th Legion, Kor'kron, Army of the Light etc. I think Warcraft has less famous infantry groupings than WHF, but the ones that exist are larger, more equipped, formidable and have a greater focus.

4\. Of course. Though Carstein probably does the most in lore, all of them shall be at least discussed. Including the two lost ones.

5\. He died but then got resurrected in Cataclysm. Spirits that are bound to the Emerald Dream can be brought back with druid magic.

Second Review

1\. I think the theory is interesting and I will need to do more research. That said I view the Emerald Dream and Morr's realm as seperate and unconnected to one another.

2\. Of course! Just remind me when I get close to that.

 **Iadum** Thank you for the extended review! I regret my extended delay in publishing this, but rest assured I will keep this project up!

I appreciate your words regarding the future of the fic. As you seem to have surmised, this is only the beginning of the beginning. I intend to go *really* far and explore not only Chaos interactions with Azeroth but those of all the other Malus factions. What determinations will the Slann make about Azeroth's place in the Great Plan- if they have one? How will the Skaven seek to expand their domain? Which human realms will come to Azeroth seeking trade, and which will come seeking friends?

There is much more to come and here, just like he is in Malus, Be'lakor is a big mover of the plot.

Regretfully, I had to take out some of my take on logistics here thanks to the sheer word length. Rest assured it will be important next chapter.

I will note that, up to this point, Chaos has been in the metaphorical kiddie pool, fighting isolated expeditions and solitary monasteries and backwood provincial races of a sleepy continent. They have yet to face the twin sharks that roam the deep end. For there are two powers that matter more than any other on Azeroth and Tamurkhan will be tangling with elements of one of them soon.

 **Dullahan1994** Oh yes, and you will see an Alliance meeting next chapter. Your English is fine and though I liked the Vampirates, I think they dropped the ball a bit in terms of Aranessa. They should have had her and Roth compete with Luthor Harkon and Count Noctilus in a living pirate vs. undead pirate campaign.

 **Dasgun 0.0**

 **Bladerunner24k –** Hopefully this chapter can fuffill your wish, for a time.

 **Nikhil Ramanathan** –Unlike Blizzard, when the Vindicaar is built I intend to keep it in use. Also I am trying to put my own spin on things, though undoubtedly I will borrow from Mathias' great work.


	10. Codex: Val'sharah

**VAL'SHARAH**

 **Greetings all! I am pleased to announce that it is now one year since I published my first CoC writing and that I have many more on the horizon.**

 **This section shall be split into three sections. The first is a codex entry on the province where Tamurkhan shall be fighting.**

 **The second is my attempt to provide a realistic population and scale calculation for the setting.**

 **The Third is my response to your reviews.** **There are two questions at the end that I hope you all can answer.**

* * *

 **Codex Entry**

 **Location: Broken Isles, Azeroth  
Sentient Races present: **Kaldorei, Furbolgs, Owlbeasts, Sprites, Cenarian Children, Humans  
 **Dimensions(Low End):** 762.84 miles perimeter and 35,971.97 m2 (see Space calculation below)  
 **Population:** Hundreds of Thousands, Estimate between 400-500k (See Population calculation)  
 **Notable Geographical Features:,** Shaldrassil  
 **Major Towns/Settlements:** Temple of Elune, Lorathil, Shal'nir, Dreamgrove  
 **Volatility?:** Tranquil Province

Tranquil and alluring, the lands of the Kaldorei are known for their pristine beauty, where civilization bends to the needs of nature. And in the Kaldorei lands, there is one region held above all others in wondrous regard; Val'sharah.

Long ago, the first druids molded this realm into an echo of the Emerald Dream, the representation of a Azeroth untouched by mortal civilization. While not a perfect replica Val'sharah is nonetheless held sacred by the Kaldorei and their woodland allies.

In modern times Val'sharah is considered a sleepy backwater by the rest of the Night Elves yet nonetheless holds a sacred function to the druidic orders. Indeed, Val'sharah is dotted with more shrines to the ancients than any land outside of Moonglaide itself. Central to the province is the sprawling temple complex dedicated to the Night Elf Goddess Elune, the largest of such structures outside of Darnassus itself.

 **Culture & Government**

As in so many other lands, the Night Elves are bound to nature in a manner no other branch of elves can claim. Whereas others trod through the forest only to take what they need- whether that is wild game or lumber- the Night Elves step softly with the intent of invigorating or improving the happiness of the wilds. As past times they will plant and tend to all sorts of plants, flowers, trees and other foliage that they help nurture and grow, even though the process can take decades.

Others form friendships with the creatures of the forest and in better times, before the demon invasions, could walk peacefully up to even the most predatory animal without fear or worry of assault. While even the Night Elves do sometimes indulge in meat, this is rare and usually saved for celebratory occasions. However

Even among the nature venerating Night Elves, the inhabitants of Val'sharah are a spiritual people, a trait that can no doubt be attributed to the abundancy of shrines and temples in the areas. As a result religious ceremony and ritual are rife across the province and no month passes unmarked. While Elune holds primacy, ceremonies dedicated to over two dozen Ancient Guardians are a relatively common occurrence. Occasionally, the ancients themselves grace these events.

The towns and druid warrens of Val'sharah are mostly self-governing polities, with only nominal direction from Teldrassil. Instead, the citizens of these lands choose their own representative leaders, though preference is usually given to religious authority, like the priestesses of Elune or the Archdruids. These leaders then choose several assistants of their own, individuals who spend most of their time conversing with travelers from the mainland and helping orchestrate the various celebrations.

 **Military**

For ten long millennia, Val'sharah has been almost entirely at peace, barring only two brief and quickly repelled incursions by other natives of the Broken Isles. Bereft of need or desire, and being only nominally under the rule of Tyrande and her sentinels, the lands of Val'sharah have not benefitted from the wide-scale militarization imposed by the sentinels who demand that even the non-combatants had acquired a degree of training over the long millennia.

Instead, Val'sharah provides the least amount of volunteers to the main Sentinel army, and those that do join are usually either grim veterans from the War of the Ancients or the young, adventurous type seeking to connect with their mainland kin. In current time roughly half of the 5,000 Val'sharah muster were currently stationed in Kalimdor, aiding their kin as volunteers against the Horde. The rest served as arbiters, constables and other services for the civilians of Val'sharah, for the duties of the sentinels had diversified much within the preceding ten millennia .

However the lack of professional army presence belied the formidable strength of the un-organized elements that wandered the land. The woods are home to at least a dozen of Furbolg tribes, Dyrads frolicked within those forests in teeming multitudes, while dozens of Keepers of the Grove trained mortal druids and worked diligently to ensure the continued longevity of the land. Yet, undoubtedly the greatest potential asset were the druids themselves and indeed of the Kaldorei lands only Moonglaide had more of them. Though no one had ever bothered with a census there were clearly many thousands within the province at any one time, with some rumors actually placing their numbers even higher still….

 **Settlements/Druid Kindreds**

The majority of the Night Elven population is based around communes in the woods, however, scattered across the province are dozens of towns and villages, not all of them strictly Kaldorei.

 **Major Settlements**

 **-The Dreamgrove:** The Dreamgrove serves as a central hub to the Emerald Dreamway, a network of portals that allows those attuned with nature the ability to quickly travel to those realms on Azeroth most attuned to the Emerald Dream such as the Moonglaide or Grizzly Hills. In this manner the Dreamgrove always hosts druids from all ends of the earth and all branches, from the comparatively common druids of the claw or branch to the rarer kindreds, like the servants of Ashamane or the elusive fox ancient Ka'zunonalah. At any one point hundreds of druids occupy this grove, and during certain celebrations this number can swell tenfold. It is perhaps the only place in Val'sharah that druids of the other races can be commonly found, for the Kaldorei natives of this land have a greater wariness to unfamiliar races than other provinces.

 **Lorlathil** : Straddling the center of the province, Lorathil is the historic birthplace of the Stormrage twins over ten thousand years ago. Known as a quant, if backward, little town during the days of the Kaldorei Empire, Lorathil's importance grew with the sundering of the Kaldorei Empire and the isolation of Suramar. Today, it is arguably the center of civic life in Val'sharah, host to dozens of year round festivals as the various druid kindreds travel from their corners of the province to participate in reenactments honoring the champions of the War of the Ancients or venerate the ancients who fell during that period. Some of these are solemn, some of these are joyous however all honor over ten millennium in the making.

In addition to the Kaldorei, Cenarius's Children make their home within the twisting forest town . Though forest roamers at heart, they will stay long enough to partake in their favorite celebrations, share bounties with their kaldorei allies and pass on teachings.

 **Temple of Elune** : The Val'sharah Temple of Elune is single most important religious center in Val'sharah, perhaps all of the Kaldorei Lands, rivaled only by a similar temple in Darnassus. For nearly fourteen thousand years this temple complex has venerated the moon goddess and chief Kaldorei deity, Elune. The Temple of Elune is the center of spiritual life in all of Val'sharah and though the Darnassian temple has recently rose above it in prominence, the Val'sharahn temple remains one of the important structures in all the Night Elven lands.

It is also the single strongest fortified zone in Val'sharah. If accosted it can boast the aid of both the Priestesses of Elune and Druids of the Moon, several nearby ancients and a batallion of Sentinels all gifted with an armament blessed by Elune herself.

- **Shala'nir** \- A small town built at the base of Shaldrassil, this settlement serves as a resting place for those who want to commune, directly, with the great tree. Every year over ten thousand druids, keepers, dryads, green dragons or others particularly attuned to the Emerald Dream and the Wilds travel to this town and, as a result, its inn is usually considered inordinarily lively for a Kaldorei inn, and well-stocked to boot.

 **Minor Settlements/Druid Kindreds**

*those underlined and italicized are my personal creations.

** Not an exhaustive list.

- **Ash'Theran-** A noted Keeper enclave, it is here that the more advanced druids the arts of life invigoration and extended lessons on the harmony of nature. The Keepers of Ash'Theran have volunteered their services across the world and played a noted role in helping regrow the tainted Is'varah forest in the Felwoods. Over three score Keepers reside here, and quadruple that in dryad attendants.

 **-Lightsong:** a small village located in the southern half of the province, this settlement has a particularly close relationship with the Owlbeasts located nearby and can be considered a outpost of the Sisterhood of Elune.

- **Malorne's Refuge** : One of the largest shrines to the Wild God Malorne, rivaled only by that of Mt Hyjall in size. In Malorne's abscense, hundreds of disciplines monitor and mantain the shrine.

 **-Moonclaw Vale** : A village and a shrine all in one, this vale boasts the single largest concentration of nightsaber druids of the claw in Val'sharah, and each year hundreds come to learn from the great Thaon Moonclaw, for whom the vale is named. Rumor has it that the Vale doubles as a prison for ancient abominations, but only Moonclaw and his immediate acolytes know for sure.

 _ **-Se'Belore**_ : a large town by the Western sea, this town is famous for its gorgeous sunsets, scenic views and the presence of the nearby Druids of the Fin. An exotic order, this group focuses on mantaining the maritime ecosystem of the province, as well as sapping corruption that occasionally washes in from the Deep Places of the ocean. While the form of the sea lion might seem non-threatening to a ignorant observer, they carry saber-teeth and the druids themselves have a notable ability at directing sea life. Masters of the order can change into orcas.

 **-Shrine of Aessenia:** More in the province of Highmountain than Val'sharah, the Shrine of Aessenia within this province is one of the two major sanctuaries to the druids of the Talon, along with that in Mt. Hyjall. The Druids of the Talon have perhaps the most grueling training regimen of all druid orders, cumulating into being thrown off a waterfall that extends thousands of feet above the rest of the province. The would-be druids must spread their wings immediately, hope their mistress if feeling merciful or else perish.

- **Shrine of Ashmane** : Built on top of the site of Ashamane's greatest triump, as well as her fall, the secluded branch of Ashamane take few visitors and even fewer disciples. Yet there is prestige to be gained in applying, and even more in acceptance, for the students of Ashamane are said to have a supernatural skill at shadowmelding and stalking that is unrivaled by any other druid branch and can even best the stealth operatives of the Dreadstalkers or the SI:7.

- **Steelclaw Vale:** Small village and druid grove devoted to the bear aspect of the druids of the claw. Here Koda Steelclaw, for whom the vale is named, leads her followers in their eternal vigilance of the dream, ever on the watch for signs of the return of the Nightmare.

 **-Thas'Talah Basin:** the center for the Druids of the Branch and home to the venerable Ancient of Lore, Elothir. Unlike the other druid branches of the area, whose primary focus is on the dream, the druids of the branch focus primarily on renewing the forest itself, ensuring that Val'sharah has maintained its purity and beauty throughout the millennia.

 **-The Grove of Cenarius** : Legendary site where Cenarius taught Malfurion Stormrage, the first Kaldorei druid, the ways of the wild. It is attended to by a couple of keepers and their dyriad attendants when Cenarius is not present.

- **The Warden Towers: Darkfallow's Spire/Starstalker's** Point: In truth, every Kaldorei province has at least one Warden enclave inside of it containing cowled warriors that ceaselessly watch over their people. In most provinces these are hidden bastions and smaller prisons however, in Val'sharah, the warden towers are towers- towers that are in remote areas for certain, but nevertheless are not particularly hidden. The reasons for this choice are not fully known but it is believed that, with the Warden Headquarters so close by, that the Watchers are trying to make a statement; that their cowl extends over the Night Elves of Val'sharah and that their reach is long, that none who threatens these lands may escape their justice. Indeed, the Wardens have proved both claims before in the past; their holding cells in Azsuna full of would-be conquerors from other races can attest to this.

In theory, every tower should be staffed by a full complement of sisters. In practice, the wars and turmoils of other lands have drained these towers to a skelaton staff, and now only a small handful of sisters are left to watch all of Val'sharah.

 **The Bradensbrook Refugees**

Roughly 4 years before present time, the Cataclysm sundered Gilneas even as the Forsaken drove in to drive its inhabitants to exctinction. The Gilneans split in a great exodus- most fled to either their allies in Darnassus or Stormwind, while a few determined outliers would stay and fight bitterly for the province. Others independently fled elsewhere, forming minor settlements that popped up throughout the Eastern Kingdoms- and beyond.

Bradensbrook is one of the latter. Recognizing the state of his kingdom, Mayor Heathbrow quickly moved to appropriate the ships of a nearby royal docks and convinced most of his citizens to flee the encroaching (and warring) Worgen and Forsaken. Several freak courses in the weather blew the Mayor off course to Val'sharah, where some of the ships crashed and Mayor Heathbrow, not wanting to leave any of his own behind, decided to settle.

The Gilneans of this province have a somewhat tense, but cordial relationship with the dominant Kaldorei civilization. Both sides recognize that their far off kin have ties with each, allies in war and peace, and while niether Val'sharah nor Bradensbrook is ruled directly by those far off entities nor feels much in the way of personal affection for the other, they at least recognize that there are greater threats in the world and worse neighbors. It is possible this might change in the distance future, if the Bradensbrook colony were to grow unchecked and past the limited area they currently occupy.

 **Population** : I don't want to spend much time determining the GIlneans refugee population (as I spend a lot of time already on the Kaldorei, see below) since they don't have much narrative importance but I would imagine they are akin to early Jamestown or Plymouth. So hundreds to low thousands at best.

 **Furbolgs & Owlbeasts**

Furbolgs are a hulking, ancient race of bear-men who live in the northern regions of Kalimdor, in the continent of Northrend, and in the Broken Isles. According to the ancient RPG (which is non-canon, but occasionally might be used as 'flavor lore'), Furbolgs are big and strong, averaging 7 to 10 feet in height and 3 feet in width. Many furbolgs continue to grow even after they reach maturity, adding layers of muscle. Furbolgs weigh 300 to 400 pounds on average, though some reach 500 pounds.

The dozen or so Furbolg tribes and tribal confederacies have a sort of peace with the Kaldorei, if a wary one. There have been skirmishes and conflicts between the two in the past, but the worst of these is always resolved in the Kaldorei's favor given the greater mastery of nature that the druids possess combined with the swift precision of the Sentinels. Some furbolgs resent this, but the wisest of the tribal elders preach peace with the Kaldorei, with whom they do have much in common such as veneration of the Ursoc brothers, a respect for native and a worship of Elune. Indeed, many Furbolgs count Kaldorei as their friends and vice-versa.

Often, the majority of the conflicts within Val'sharah take place between Furbolg tribes rather than Furbolg on Kaldorei, for though the Furbolgs are overall a peaceful people they can be roused to great wrath and bear long grudges. The worst of these conflicts are, again, resolved by Kaldorei 'mediation', whether the feuding tribal chieftans like it or not. This is another historical grievance between the two.

Owlbeasts resemble crosses between owls and bears and, according to the RPG, are larger than the average Furbolg at 10 feet in height and weigh between 1,000 and 3,000 pounds. Some rare variants can double this size and weight.

Unlike in regards to the Furbolgs, the records of conflict between Owlbeast tribes and the Kaldorei- or, indeed, each other- is nearly non-existent. As both fervent worshipers of Elune there is very little cause of historical grievance between the two. Alas, events elsewhere have shown that, of all of Elune's creatures, the Owlbeast is perhaps most vulnerable to corruption and insanity and it remains to be seen if this tranquil relationship will last when under stress.

 **Population** : I am basing the Furbolg population somewhat off of the Native American population in Virginia and New England prior colonist arrival. This gives me a range somewhere between 50-100,000. However, there are some x-factors to consider in negotiating total population sizes.

The first of which is that, even though Furbolg-Kaldorei relationships are mostly peaceful, the Kaldorei are still occupying a lot of land that the Furbolgs would otherwise settle, limiting thier growth potential. The second is the caloric needs of this group which is likely many times that of a man (at least their closest real world equivalent in weight class, the Black Bear, can eat between 15-20k calories per day) which further limits the numbers of population growth. However I do believe Furbolgs can farm and use some magic to enhance their food, which helps capabilities.

Due to that, I can see Furbolg numbers being halved from the historical low end Virginia Native American comparison. So perhaps somewhere between 25,000-30,000 individuals. The Furbolgs aren't endangered but shouldn't be too common, either.

Owlbeats should be smaller still for they have much larger caloric requirements and have a much rarer presence in game that we can extrapolate from. I would consider 10,000 a very high end.

…

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… **..**

…

* * *

 **THE SCALING OF AZEROTH**

 **SKIP AHEAD IF YOU DON'T LIKE NUMBERS OR INSANE CALCULATIONS**

World-Building. It can be one of the most enjoyable or difficult aspects of writing, for it can be both a release and a restraint on one's imagination. While you certainly can build a world up, adding new and exciting elements and cultures, you are expected to adhere to the rules you have already set.

And therein lay one of Blizzard's greatest issues, for consistency has ever been one of their weak points. I am here to speak of what I consider one of the most egregious aspects of that inconsistency; scaling. Specifically, Blizzard has issues showing their world at a consistent size.

For fairness sake, I think it is important to make an allowance based on gameplay. The system cannot handle it, the design team couldn't create enough of quests to fill the breadth of it and players too would hate it, for it would mean travel of miles in game to get to an interesting point. This trope, known as Space Compression, is common in video games and other notables like Horizon Zero Dawn and the Elder Scrolls series operate under the same rules. Blizzard has gone on record to state that the areas we see in game are much larger in lore, with Ironforge given as an example, and in some novels entire unfamiliar towns and villages show up.

However, if that is excusable, the little inserts included in game text and novels are extremely incoherent. For example, in Warcraft 3 it took months to cross the Barrens while in the Swamp of Sorrows the Alliance commander states that the Orc army there could march to Stormwind in a day if he wanted to. In the novel Wolfheart Ashenvale and Teldrassill are many hundreds of miles apart while in the Shattering a brisk afternoon walk separates Ironforge from Loch Modan the next province over. These are just a few of the inconsistencies.

Though Blizzard has not released a scale or seems to even abide by one for the lore writers they contract their stories out to, I would like my story to have one. It will be a good exercise for me personally, so that I can have a set series of rules that I can challenge myself to abide. Moreover, it will help me in story writing, for I can clearly map out how campaigns will go and the length of time they take.

A while ago, I worked on and created a specific scale of Azeroth based on the map given in Chronicles 3. I operated under a single main assumption: that Azeroth is earth-sized and this has been confirmed to me in a direct conversation with a Warcraft creative development member. For that reason, I am throwing out all internal calculations and measurements that don't mesh with that little fact. I will also assume that every region on Azeroth can be scaled with the sole exception of those who lore shows are around the size shown in gameplay, like the isle of Teldrassil which was destroyed by Sylvanas in the opening of BFA.

Assuming Azeroth is earth size makes determining the size of the continent much, much easier, for I have thought of a means to measure Azeroth that I have not seen anyone else utilize: biomes. I believe we can directly compare the biomes of Azeroth to Earth and, assuming parity, can get rough estimates based on the latitude of Earth that these biomes occur at. For example, the Grizzly Hills and Howling Fjord can be considered Taiga regions which occur between 50-70*N while the jungle regions of Stranglethorn Vale and Kasarang Wilds can be considered between the Tropic of Capricorn and Cancer respectively (23.5N to 23.5S)

Now there is some regional variation like how in Northrend the Borean Tundra begins at the same latitude as Grizzly Hills, a Taiga forest. This is acceptable and I believe mirrors the real world where, for example, the latitudes of Tundra and Taiga sometimes overlap, along with tropical and temperate forests. In Alaska for example you can see some Tundra in a latitude as low as 57N* . Likewise high elevation might explain examples such as the Kun-Lai Mountains in Pandaria that are snow covered yet lie near the hypothetical equator, as higher elevations make the surrounding environment colder.

There are a few, weird titan aberrations, such Sholazar Basin and the Overgrowth in the Barrens. These are caused by either magical forces or titans (in the cause of Sholazar) so I count them as the exception. In addition, High Elven lore has the lands around Quel'Thalas as magically enchanted and thus while they would normally be a Taiga they now count as a temperate forest, albeit one far north than usual.

Here are the rough approximations for the Earth's biomes, based on what I have found

 **Polar Regions** – 66* North

 **Tundra** –Between 60-70*

T **aiga (Coniferous Forest)** \- 50°N to 70°N

 **Temperate Regions** -50*N to 25*N

 **Tropical Regions** \- (23.5N to 23.5S)

With those biomes it is easy to place the Warcraft continents. For Northrend the continent begins with a Taiga on one side and a Tundra on the other, with the Taiga drooping slightly lower than the Tundra. Meanwhile the North ends into what is clearly a polar region with Icecrown Citadel and Hrothgar's island. Thus, I would put the latitudes for Northrend in a range between 55N* and 70N*.

Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms go from the temperate regions up top to tropical and deserts at the bottom. As the bottom is shown to be rainforested or a Egypt expy (Uldum) I would suspect the latitude to go at least as far down as Gautemala, between 20-15*N going up to as high as 52N* for Kalimdor and a bit higher for the top of the Eastern Kingdoms, which according to the official Chronicles 3 is at the same latitude as the lower portion of Northrend. Pandaria, meanwhile, is clearly all tropical with the exception of Kun Lai Summit and Kasarang Jungle and Jade Forest are clearly tropical in looks. I would put this land near the equator, from 15N-10N* (depending on placement of Kalimdor) and to as far as the equator or even a bit below. Lets go for two arguments –one that the Chronicles Map ends exactly at the equator, and the other that it bisects it quite a bit, and ends 15 S

This does mean that the lands explored so far in Azeroth are above the equator and this is by design. According to the previews released for the The _World of Warcraft Diary_ Blizzard did initially look at a continent south of Kalimdor that was not Pandaria and though the size and scope of continents changed during development Warcraft does seem to have left plenty of room for more continents, which leave more room for expansions. Thus, if Blizz wanted to, they can now expand to Southern Azeroth as well as the elusive backside of Azeroth.

However; those were just musing, guessing by myself. Now comes the real work. To give Azeroth the maximum possible space, I assumed that the very top of the map is the North Pole and the bottom is the Tropic of Capricorn, 15S the Equator. For if we continue to operate under the assumption that Azeroth is Earth-sized that means we can plus in Earth's latitude numbers which are 69 miles or 111 kilometers per degree. This would mean the entire

So with that end let's start calculating! First I am using Pixelzoomer, an internet program that measures pixels in a picture. With this I can eventually attune miles to pixels. First, according to Pixel Zoomer the Source 1 Official Chronicles map is 1295 pixels across and 870 vertical, not counting the margins off the map for either measurement, which is good to know.

.Let's assume now that Azeroth ends 15S the equator, and that 870 is divided by 90(signifying ninety degrees of latitude between North Pole and the Equator). This means that each degree is now 9.88 Pixels. Now entering that into the 1295 figure, that would mean that the planet covers a distance of rounded 131 Longitude. That is the distance between Britain to deep in the Pacific Ocean….or Britain to the edges of Japan.

I can now, finally, calculate how many Pixels one mile equals. If 9.88 pixels equals one degree, then by dividing 69/9.88 then 1 equals 6.983 miles…or for simplicity sake, 7 miles.

1295 x 7 miles is 9,065. If we assume we measure only 131 degrees then we can times this measurement by 2.7 (and bunch of decimal places) to get 360* longitude we get a circumnavigation of 24,911 miles….which is roughly the same as Earth's!

 **TL:DR: I used real world latitude figures and pixel estimates to try to calculate the Chronicles 3 map.**

To make a long story short, I then used this calculation, this 1 pixel equals 7 miles, combined with the program called Sketch and Calc to get the perimeter and area of every province in Azeroth along with some experimental figures for Draenor and Outland. As my hand isn't the steadiest it is possible someone could use the same program, use the same calculation and get exact figures different then my own however I am confident that they would be near the same.

However, I ran into a problem when Blizzard released the Kul Tiras and Zandalar profiles which they were specifically reffered to as "sub-continents" …distinctions that remind you of Greenland, India and Pantagonia. While it is possible, nay likely, that Blizzard is using words here that don't apply (See Settlement Hierarchy) I can't distinctively verify how large Azeroth actually is anymore. For that reason, consider **my estimates of land to be the low end.** Story wise, Ill probably keep it open that it could be a bit bigger.

Val'sharah has a perimeter of 762.84 miles and 35,971.97 square miles in my personal calculations. 2288.52 and 107915.91 square miles if you x3 it. For story purposes, I am generally going to assume my own calculations rather than Blizzard's flippant ones as, though I can certainly recognize flaws within them, I feel I have at least made some effort to determine them while Blizzard seems all over the place (though I believe they might have an internal calculation that has not been released). That said if Blizzard really wants to imagine Kul Tiras/Zandalar as huge places, despite having just spent time and effort drawing a map to scale (The Chronicles 3 map) then I might oblige them, as a bigger Kul Tiras/Zandalar might help the story.

For some real world references to Square miles

NA

-Rhode Island 1,212 mi

-Virginia 42,775 mi

-New York (State) 54,555

-California 163,696 mi

-Texas 268,581

-Alaska 663,300 mi

-Mexico 758,400 mi

\- Greenland 836,300 mi

-United States (total) 3.797 million

-Canada 3.855 million

-North America Total 9.54 million mi

Europe

Iceland 39,769 mi

Great Britain 93,628 mi

Poland 120,726 mi

Germany 137,988 mi

France 248,573 mi

Europe Total 3.931 million

Russian Federation 6.602 million mi

Asia

Israel 8,019 mi

South Korea 38,691 mi

Japan 145,936 mi

Iran 636,400 mi

Saudi Arabia 830,000 mi

India 1.269 million mi

China 3.705 million mi

Asia 17.21 million mi

Australia/Pacifica

Gaum 210 mi

Australia 2.97 million mi

New Zealand 103,483 mi

Tahiti 403 mi

Midway 25.6 mi

Fiji 7,056 mi

Africa

Kenya 224,081 mi

Madagascar 226,658 mi

Egypt 390,100 mi

South Africa 470,900 mi²

Libya 679,400 mi

Sahara Desert (all) 3.552 million mi

Africa 11.73 million mi

South America/Caribbean

Aruba 69.08 mi

Jamaica 4,244 mi

Panama 29,157 mi

Cuba 42,426 mi

Chile 291,933 mi

Venezuela 353,841 mi

Pantagonia - 402,700 mi²

Argentina 1.074 million mi

Amazon Rainforest 2.124 million mi

Brazil 3.288 million mi

South America 6.888 million mi

Antarctica 5.405 million mi

* * *

 **Calculating Night Elf Population**

 **What is the one thing more inconsistent than spaces in WOW? Population!**

The populations of Warcraft are a true example of Shrondinger come to life and at any given time the leaders of the Alliance and Horde are both moaning about losses, complaining they don't have enough troops to hold on….while planning military assaults across the world while maintaining garrisons across six continents and a planet or two (or three!) . Anduin, in the Saurfang cinematic, even as he was feeling morose about having to finally draft farmers (which, as you will see, constitutes somewhere between 75-95% of his population) is launching invasions into Zandalar, defending Kul Tiras, fighting Stromgarde, maintaining garrisons across the world and, hell, a month from that point will even sacrifice a whole Alliance army _as a distraction_.

This is a setting where the Darksprear- always a small tribe compared to the other Trolls and suffering great loses to Zalzalane, the Kul Tirans in Warcraft 3, the Sea Witch, their neighbors etc- can afford to funnel entire armies into both Nazmir (together with the Zandalar) and Stromgarde, where they fight evenly with the Humans and Dwarfs who should easily outnumber them many times over. It's a setting where every many conflict costs tens of thousands of lives at minimum (from the books) yet none of that is shown to matter, in practice.

Low numbers aren't used. Blizzard sometimes mention them, but they are **never** shown to matter in the scheme of things. In order for the genocides of Warcraft 3 to have any sort of meaning, you have to assume Warcraft as a setting stopped in Frozen Throne. Which, despite what some may hope, is not the case.

 **In order for a low number to work it must have** **immediate weight** **.** I've done the math and even if Thrall sailed with the whole Spanish Armada stolen (130+ ships) and hefted an estimated 30,000 thousand orcs, cramming the whole hull to the brim with greenskins, (and somehow made room for the entire Darkspear tribe, which were also carried on the ships) he would have ran out of warrior orcs probably by classic, and definitely by the events of Wrathgate even if we go by the absolute minimum amount of causalities and ignore things from the novels that suggest the Alliance/Horde each lose tens of thousands every conflict. They certainly would not have had the manpower able to fight three successive world wars that followed Wrathgate, along with the Cataclysm, the Nightmare War 1, the Draenor invasion and a score of small conflicts.

Low numbers cannot work because, if it they were true, they would have weight. Meaning we would have seen Thrall simply not having the manpower to fight anywhere and would be desperately begging his allies to fight in their place. Without weight, without immediate cause and effect, low numbers cannot work and certainly fall apart after cumulative effects. Higher number interpeations, however, can work- they do have weight and can justify the higher numbers of causalities seen through the combined total of conflicts.

It isn't perfect, and I am certainly having to do some historical reinterpretation like with the Orc Exodus, but if it comes down to preserving an abandoned past to allowing for the present and known future, the choice, to me, is obvious.

To that end I am operating under three principles:

 **-Acknowledgment of Space Compression** : The devs of Warcraft have gone on record to state that the Warcraft world is much larger in lore than in game. This is actually a common trend among all games, such as the Elder Scrolls, Fallout 4, etc as properly fleshing out a entire city- with all of its houses and environs- would just waste dev time and might cause issues for players with less advanced PCs in regards to loading. Thus Stormwind, for example, is supposed to be far larger in lore than it is in game.

Whole towns and villages are also not included in game, as evidenced by the periodic inclusion of such places in the books such as Pigbarter. It is also intuitive, as making something like, let's say, the Barrens the size of California gives a lot more room for settlements to exist. That said, I do assume all large cities in lore (i.e. Stormwind or Orgrimmar equivalents) are either in game already, if scaled down, or are simply part of the map not properly explored yet (Undermine).

 **-Modern Realism over Warcraft 3** : My focus in determining populations is not on specific Blizzard numbers, such as they are. Contradictory things and innacurate too, for as I discussed Warcraft is subject to the "Space Compression" trope which limits the numbers that can be portrayed in game. Instead, I plan to look at real world figures to try to determine, when taking into account certain racial traits (like the 10k biological immortality of the Kaldorei or the genocide of the Blood Elves), what the overall population is. That said, any constraints the, let's say, the genocide of the Blood Elves made on that race must take into account that the Blood Elves have consistently supported Horde armies around the world and, indeed, like with Suramar and the Thunder King's isle sometimes sent exclusive Blood Elven armies afield. They have the manpower to do this.

 **-Causality Starts Now:** Once can argue that I am being generous to Warcraft as a setting so far, however, I do have a clause that will haunt them and that is that **Causality Starts Now**. In other words, though my starting numbers will be pretty generous to Warcraft (and, when I do them, Warhammer) I will be taking losses strictly into account from this point forward and, unless a faction can magically replace their numbers quickly (i.e. necromancy) this will come to bite a given faction with greater intensity as the story goes on.

I used three different methods in the hopes of getting a rough population figure. Each of those three methods have problems associated with I, some of which I specifically point out, and others that I likely not found. None of them are wholly reliable and yet I think each include important points that can effect the overall conclusion. All of the below are just a mixture of theorycrafting, rough calcs, analysis, and guesswork. I encourage you, the reader, **to point out the flaws in my methods and suggest improvements**.

 **Method 1: Population Growth Rate**

The Growth Rate is the measure of population increase or decrease measured by births – deaths. Before I move onto that I want to talk about factors specific to the Kaldorei in regards to Birth and Death Rate.

 **Birth Rates**

When observing the birth rates of the Kaldorei there were a couple of factors that I wanted to take into account. The first is the general elvish trope of low reproduction rates in comparison to humans, something that, for the most part, seems to transcend fictions- LOTR, Dragon Age, Warhammer, Warcraft etc. Elves are either extremely longlived or immortal and thus feel less a pressing biological need to reproduce and can well afford to take centuries or (in the case of the Kaldorei) millenia to make a decision. See Tyrande & Malfurion.

However as elves age incredibly slowly they can be considered as 'reproductively viable" for centuries or millenia while for humans, the 'peak' period might be a handful of decades with aberrations outside of that. Moreover the Kaldorei, thanks to Nozdormu's gift, seem to have biologically stopped aging once they have hit adulthood. Thus anyone who was every "reproductively viable" over these last ten millennia, remains so now.

 **Death Rate**

 **-No Old Age related Deaths (Yet)** : Night Elves became immortal thanks first to the Well of Eternity and then, later, thanks to the World Tree. In addition, even those not bound to the World Tree tend to live long, with many Blood Elves claiming to have lived centuries or even millennia.

 **-No Diseases :** The novel Wolfheart establishes that diseases were a foreign idea to the Kaldorei up until their immortality faded and, even now, it appears to be very uncommon. I will note that the tropish Elvish vitality, the Kaldorei's outdoorsy lifestyle(peak physical condition for many, particularly in the military), cleanliness (they bathe in streams and, when available, the blessed moonwells) and nutrition are all factors to consider when measuring the effectiveness of disease against the Night Elves. Moreover, when they do get sick they can either seek out said moonwells or have all manner of healers- druids, priests, alchemists, herbalists etc- to fall back on. Literally the only example of a Kaldorei dying from disease that I can immediately think of is Jarod's wife, and she died because they didn't seek out another healer until she was on death's door.

That said I don't rule out the possibility of Kaldorei dying even with access to healers(depending on the severity of the disease) but I think, under normal circumstances, the odds of a Night Elf dying from disease is probably only slightly greater than death by lightning.

Also, I have found little evidence of a drug problem in the Night Elven society, so that wipes away a portion of deaths by either overdose or, often related, suicide.

 **-Little War** : Though the Night Elves have fought conflicts during the preceding ten millenia, most of those are either skirmishes fought between the sentinels and some unruly native (Satyrs mostly) as the former ceaslessly patrolled their forests. To my knowledge there are only two major conflicts of note fought during that time- the War of the Shifting Sands and the War of the Satyr. Of the two the latter is probably the more formidable conflict in terms of causalities, being fought inside elven lands, though the Shifting Lands involved a major expedition.

However, to my knowledge, Val'shara itself has not faced any such invasion and though it may well have committed some troops to aid in the defense of the Kaldorei in other lands (in my story they do), they haven't personally felt the effects of war prior to the events of Legion. Or the Cataclysm, from what I can tell.

Oh and though crime does exist among the Night Elves, ill note that their prisons don't seem to be filled much with Night elves barring the Demon Hunters (who wardens view as aligned with daemons) which suggests either the homicide rate for the Night Elves is extremely low like countries such as Japan or that the worst criminals of the Kaldorei invariably align with demons during their rampage. Personally, having not found evidence of a demon-enhanced homicide epidemic among the Kaldorei, I would suggest its mostly the former.

 **-Friendly Wilflife:** According to Elegy, Night Elves generally live on very good terms with the wildlife with attacks being seemingly rare. Though that can change with corruption abound, said instances have mainly started to apply only after the period in which I am looking at (10,000 P.D.P-20 D.P). Val'shara itself has not shown instances of corruption until the events of _Legion_.

- **Rare Accidents:** Elves in general are frequently potrayed as more agile and better on their feet than man, with this both reflected in the game with moves such as 'quickness' and in lore, most notably with the more extreme example in Tides of War of a Night Elf warrior literally running up the blades of her enemy. Night Elves are going to be, in general, fit, agile and with healers at least in traveling distance if hurt. Thus, while accidents such as falling or slipping might hurt the Night Elves, I would expect a drastically less fatalities from clumsy accidents when compared to a man.

- **Rare Distasters:** Sometimes shit happens, like hurricanes, forest fires and the like. The rate of this, however, is exceedingly difficult to calculate, particularly with individuals like the druids around (who might be tempted to limit the fires). Starvation and famine should be virtually unheard of, however, given that druids can simply grow their food if they are around (and the omnipresent wisps, spirits of the Kaldorei dead, can help with that).

Essentially, until the events of Warcraft 3, I believe we are looking at a very static, abysmally low level death rate for the entire Kaldorei race. Perhaps this was punctuated by a period or two of sudden spikes (like Shifting Sands/Satyr War) but, for the overwhelming majority of the time, it would have been static. This is in contrast to virtually all of human history, which features very erratic rates of growth and decline.

 **For comparison….**

According to the "Deaths & Morality" Chart of the CDC, the U.S has a Death rate: 849.3 deaths per 100,000 population (or 84.93 of 10,000, as that is the interval I am measuring in my analysis).The top ten leading causes of death are as follows.

Heart disease: 635,260

Cancer: 598,038

Accidents (unintentional injuries): 161,374

Chronic lower respiratory diseases: 154,596

Stroke (cerebrovascular diseases): 142,142

Alzheimer's disease: 116,103

Diabetes: 80,058

Influenza and Pneumonia: 51,537

Nephritis, nephrotic syndrome and nephrosis: 50,046

Intentional self-harm (suicide): 44,965

That totals to 2,034,199 which is 74% of the total per 2017 (2,744,248 out of 323,118,804). But let's focus only on the top ten, as that is the only portion the CDC really breaks down(though doubtlessly a more complete version somewhere on the net) and most of the rest is just a variation of disease anyway.

The previous death rate was 849.3 deaths per 100,000 population. 74% of that is 628.482 per 100,000 or 62.84 per 10,000.

Now let's imagine that same death rate, but if humans had the same traits as the Night Elves. Subtract everything but accidents and suicide, as elves did not get sick until recently. Now reduce accidents by perhaps an eighth, as in addition to being more agile Night Elves also don't have to worry about modern accidents, such as the 37,000 lives claimed by car crashes in 2017 (which are part of this category). That is 20,171. Now suicide is difficult to determine, but as the US is experiencing a upsurge in suicide, and Night Elven society seems very close-knit, I would imagine it to be a lot lower. Let's say its ¼ and count it for all deaths by violence (suicide, war, murder, animal attacks etc) . That is 11,241 .However, as I am using increments of 10,000 for my calculation below, I want to reduce these deaths-a combined total 31,412- into per 10,0000.

Let's out what percentage it is of the 323,118,804… its 0.009721501692609632, rounded to .01. 0.01% of 10,0000 is 1. Now this does look absurdly low even to my eyes but the fact is, as far as I can tell, there were absurdly little ways to die during that tranquil time from the end of WOTA to the beginning of WC3.

And then the death rate skyrocketed.

 **The Calculation:** When doing this calc I operated under a single main rule: that the growth rate is ultimately positive, if abysmal, growth. If the Kaldorei were a dying race fading into obscurity, it would have been mentioned somewhere before and as I am cutting this growth off at the Third War, I will not analyze the various traumas that occur since (which wouldn't have affected Val'shara anyway). And its incredibly unlikely that the growth remained exactly 0 throughout this period.

Certainly I realize the perils of using a static growth rate across my whole calculation. Even for the slow-changing Kaldorei there would be periods of war or disaster like the fight with the Satyr, yet those I feel are balanced out by potential periods of extraordinary growth (like the thousand year celebration of the defeat of the Burning Legion, for instance, which reminds the elves of the joy of being alive).

I am starting this calculation with 10,000 elves. This I feel is perfectly reasonably for Val'shara alone, as the Night Elves were once the most powerful empire on Azeroth, striding all ends of the Pangea continent, a vast polity larger than the Roman Empire at its height.

I have arranged my calculations into the following collumns

Total Fertile population- Population of viable adults. I have an attached calculation that adds in "new birth" after twenty years

Birthrate Percent-Percent of total population born every year

Death Rate- Percent of total population who die every year. Note my percentage here is static – 0.025%. Or, out of 10,000, there are 2.5 deaths. I raised it from my rate above to add as much challenges to the Nelf death rate as possible

New Births- New births of the year

New Deaths- Deaths of the Year

Net –Born-Death

Total Population- Total population, young and old.

For my death rate I look up the very lowest birth rate in the industrialized world; Japan. For them, they achieve roughly 7.8/1000 per year births….or 78/10,000. This is roughly a birthrate of .78 percent…To emphasize my point, to showcase the low levels of reproduction and vitality, I drive my ratio down as far as I think makes sense to make it…and then go beyond. I assumed every extreme stereotype about low elven reproduction is true and that the death rate is higher than expected, so that only a handful of babies per 10,000 are born every year. This I did to showcase just how extreme 10,000 years of non-stop growth, even a very marginal one, can make a population.

I did this for figures leading to a .050% net gain, .040, .035, 0.03, 0.25%. The end result, after 10,020 years?

-.050% - 1,428,651

-.040%- 534,259

-0.035% - 325,958

-003% - 198,692

-0.025% - 121,006

The highest and lowest averaged is 774,828. Again, I will note that I think these birthrates are absurdly low and any human civilization would quickly collapse under them. The only reason they are even slightly sustainable to the Elves is the large period of peace they experienced.

 **Method 2: Settlement Hierarchy**

Blizzard has attempted to create, at one point, a settlement hierarchy, most notably in the RPG books which defines villages as somewhere between 80-2000 and cities as above 5000. Unfortunately Blizzard tends to add confusion by labeling villages, towns and even cities interchangeably. In addition, for the most part, these numbers come from the RPG which has been de-canonized.

So, with the power and authority of the author of this fanfiction, I am going to try to create a new one, based on both Blizzard's initial estimates and other popular medieval age settlement hierarchy websites that ill link below

 **AN:** Warcraft is NOT a strictly medieval setting- I am aware and am one of the biggest proponents of Warcraft having a higher technological level than most claim. However, I see no problems as using medieval esque figures as a baseline for a settlement hierarchy, as it is what Blizzard at least initially tried to do.

I shall go into the unique aethstetics for every race in time as I have done with the Night Elves.

…..

I believe roughly that the settlement hierarchy can be arranged

 **-Villages** : 80-2000. Generally counts in the "rural" category with "rural" here meaning simply everything not a town or city.

 **-Towns:** 2000- 10000. Large towns, like "Goldshire" might constitute an upper etchelon of around 8-10k.

 **Cities-** Anything larger. Obviously there would be different levels of city as well, and I would imagine Stormwind to be in a whole nother category than Thunder Buff.

Now before going on I want to identify the **two major assumptions** that I am running on here

 **-Cities, Towns and Villages-** So given that Blizzard loves to use villages, towns and even cities interchangeably, how does one separate the three into their respective categories? My personal solution is to focus on settlement placement(location) and services provided, operating under the general assumption that providers of services will generally choose to operate out of areas that have access to the most people either to help them (if the more altruistic type) or to make more money. Narrative importance might also be considered such as for the Temple Complex of Elune in Val'shara, which has its own private army to help fight off a daemon assault and can be assumed to function as a training facility for priestesses.

Lorathil classifies as a town, perhaps a major one, thanks to the presence of a Flight Master, several regent masters and specialist sellers and its placement at the very center of the province along the major road that travels throughout it.

- **Urbanization/Rural Rate:** Up until the industrial age the population spread of almost all civilizations were favoring rural populations by a hefty margin, ranging from **75%-95%.** Though this rule might come apart for certain races (Gnomes and Goblins prominently) I do feel comfortable applying it to most races in the setting. Remember, towns and cities count as urban centers- everything else is rural.

 **The Problem of this Method:** **Settlements not seen:** Unfortunately, I don't have a canon method to calculate how many unseen towns, villages even cities exist that are not shown in lore, other than they exist. As I cannot number their existence, for this method I must disclude them and only count what is known. 

Note, in my calculations I shall assume the highest possible rural rate for the Night Elves (95%) given the tendency of this group to focus on small communities, druid enclaves and their overall attunement to nature. I shall give both a high and a low estimate for known towns though. So, with that said, how many towns are there in Val'shara?

As stated I think Lorathil likely classifies as a large town. Its situated on a major highway, has plenty of services including a flight master, inn, numerous regents and services and, during the events of Legion, serves as a hub for the defenders. 8-10k then.

Shal'anir, at the base of Shaldrassil the World Tree, seems to have served as a druid hub before the events of Legion and had a inn, along with presumably some services. I would argue the Temple of Elune complex, with its private army, numerous priestesses and historical importance may classify as a small town through priestesses, novices, its private security and those services that have set up alongside it.

So that is Two known towns and one large one. On a high end, that 28k (8k + 8k+ 10k) and, on a low end, 12k (2K + 2k+8K). Again, lorewise I would be very surprised if these were the only towns in Val'shara, but this method only measures known quantities.

So with that determined we can now measure for the total population by assuming the number given is roughly 5% of the total Val'Shara population. Using a percentage calculator, this means the total population is 560,000 (High End) or 240,000 (Low End). The average of these two figures is 400,0000

…Hell, despite what I said earlier, I may as well calculate for the minimum rural rate (75%). In that case we get 112,000(High End) or 48,000(Low End). The average of these two figures is 80,000.

Put both estimates together and the overall average is 240,000.

 **Method 3: Contemporary Equivalent/Contemporary Land Area= Ratio of Land Area per Person**

Blizzard has based many races in WOW loosely off of real world equivalents. For example, the Tauren clearly have Plains Indian influences, the Trolls have MesoAmerican, Humans Medieval Europe/Victorian England etc. So under this methodology I could, in theory, compare the historical populations of those real-world groups, find their person to square mile/km ratio and then apply it to my fan geography to get a number for the province.

This method has two flaws. The first of which is already talked about and that is the shifting geography that Blizzard uses and bizarre terms.

 **The Problems of Contemporary Comparison and the Role of Druidism:** It is difficult to find a exact history comparison to the Night Elves and, indeed, many WOW races. The Night Elves cannot be called a farming civilization, for we have no evidence of such things, yet they do not fit into contemporary foraging/Hunter-gatherer civilizations either, as they both live in landed tranquility with nature (in contrast to traditional gatherers/foragers, who ranged far and wide for food) and don't seem to struggle for meals.

Now these parameters do suggest a very small population, for surely that would be required to ensure the forest remains viable and healthy without being taxed by the needs of a sentient civilization? The existence of wisps (who are capable of rapidly growing trees/plants ala both the gameplay and quests like "the Lost Wisp"), druids, keepers of the grove and dryads, I would imagine they could keep help keep the forest when combined with Kaldorei consciousness and cultural attitudes would go a long way in improving the forest's carrying capacity. By cultural attitudes I mean even taking such steps as moderating food intake (4), rotating foraging areas or even having quasi farms of fruits and vegetables that are magically grown into the edible stage. While dryads,keepers and druids are probably only a small portion of the overall Kaldorei population, I find it hard to believe that wisps aren't everywhere given that Malfurion has demonstrated the capacity- twice- to summon incredible amounts (tens of thousands or hundreds) on short notice.

I want to be clear that I do not think these magical methods are a Deus Ex Machina for a population, and I do not think that even these magical factors could keep the forests of the Orcish or Human lands sustainable in the long term (though help in the short run, certainly). There is also a cost to having druids/wisps function in such a manner that is a plot-line I look forward to exploring in the far future.

With that said, with the flaws acknowledged, I do think the most appropriate real-world comparison to the Night Elves are the Gauls. ey are the ones most associated with the term 'druids', have some savage motifs (though, contrary to what the romans thought, had a vibrant civilization) and were more advanced than other civilizations of the time. They are described by the Romans as being based around large towns (at least 28 of them), have communal group structures and relatively dispersed across modern france, at numbers of around 5 million with 248,573 m2. That is twenty people per square mile or around 8 per square kilometer. Admittedly, that is quite a bit higher than I expected and completely comfortable giving.

To go low end, we could try a region of varied farmland, established societies and tribes- Sub-Saharan Africa, Crica 1700. They had a population estimated to be 44 million across 23.29 km2 of land (8.992 m2) which gives a rounded of 2 people per square kilomer or 5 per square mile as a low end.

Using my Val'shara calculation of 35,971.97 Square miles x20, that is 719,440 individuals if went by the Gaul rate and nearly 180,000 if we went by the Sub-Saharan African.

 **Conclusion:** Around 450,000 averaged via this method if we were to seek a middle ground. Personally I am keeping it somewhat vague for the story, but clearly in the hundreds of thousands. Again I recognize the flaws of these methods and encourage you all to give me your own theories on how you would determine population.

….

…..

…

* * *

Okay Calculations over. Now for the best part: AN response! Note that I am ordering this from smallest review response, to highest rather than in chronological order as I have been.

Thank you all for your reviews btw

 **Dasgun** Right back at you.

 **DIOS de la Nada** Indeed. And Dirty fighting.

 **TheJackinati275 & Corresponding Guest Account**

Hey man, thanks for the idea and account. I am going to enjoy reading that. I will note that Molotov cocktails and flamethrowers exist in the Warcraft setting if in a limited form, though obviously that uses certain ingredients to make one flammable.

 **MadFrog2000** Thank you sir, I appreciate that. More canonical characters will be seen soon- a lot more- for the Kaldorei heroes tend to all get involved when their lands are threatened.

 **Wom1** Hmm I will have to check that out. Also you might be right and rest assured I intend to read carefully the Empire and Brettonian sections before including them.

 **Reality deviant** Of course I plan to feature Warcraft villains! I have already had the Vyrkul fight Chaos and intend to feature them again, along with the Drogbar and Naga, in upcoming sections. I only ask for your patience, as I am a slow writer and I admit that.

The Nightmare Lord has a longer storyline planned for him and will not fight Chaos at this time. Indeed, Xavius is a flexible individual who sees opportunities more than threats.

 **Carre**

4\. Yes and I am having fun imaginging some mercenary Warbands from Azeroth. Of course Azeroth has mercenaries just as famous as the Dogs of War, if not more; adventurers

5\. Heh I am a reader of that fic!

6\. No, I don't think so. It might take a little bit, but Grimgor would be stopped. But as the reason he can't is something I plan on addressing maybe my next entry, I will abstain from answering this in whole

 **Guest Responder April 19**. Warcraft orcs/Warhammer orcs will be a while, as I am an unfortunately slow writer, though I will endeavor to feature them sometime together. And don't worry, I intend to expand upon everything. I already have written a 32,000 word codex for a Warhammer Fantasy army that existed in the periphery of lore and has never before been featured in either a canon or fanon codex.

 **Bladerunner24k** Well they are "Chaos Dragons" in that they have been corrupted by Chaos but they are not the two-headed version you think of in the codex which is associated with Tzeentch, who definitely would not want his forces in this horde. These are non-aligned Or Nurglites, and have one head rather than two. As for dragon vs. dragon fights I am unsure if they will happen soon (mainly because I am not sure if I want Ysera to appear or not) but the dragons will definitely have the skies contested….

 **Nikhil Ramanathan** I appreciate that though, mayhap, I think you gave me too much credit. It was more the unique layout of the Moonguard Stronghold (seriously all, look it up) that made its assault such a massive headache for chaos to assault. My original draft had Chaos winning handily (though with some successful evacuations on the part of the Moonguard) before I got on my Demon Hunter and personally explored that Stronghold.

Not responding to your second review much, as its in response to something else, though rest assured I am taking in the same considerations that you mention.

 **The True Skull** The keepers of Ulduar are a incredible source of knowledge but I think you overestimate the willingness of Warhammer figures to listen. For example the Empire has a whole civilization's worth experience viewing Beastmen as savage monsters and minotaurs apart of that. Now these giant, metallic individuals come out of nowhere, from another planet where even there they rarely interact with anyone, and tell them(the Empire) that no, these Beastmen over here in Mulgore are actually nice guys and you should trust them .

I don't think anyone in the Empire would buy that save maybe the most open minded or travelers to the Far East (where Beastmen do indeed act a bit different). Possibly, after a long period of observation and reluctance interaction, others might start to buy it though there will always be those irrational individuals who view it all as a trick.

I agree with your next two responses regarding Witch Hunters and Dalaran. A culture shock will occur.

 **Happy Vampire**

Indeed, I suspect that is one of the few cultural points in common that the two kindreds of Warhammer dwarfs have with each other. Though, to be fair, they probably hate each other even more than the Elgi.

You are absolutely correct regarding Vampires and the Horde. Though that brings with it several questions such as can the threat of the Alliance make Vamps/Horde reluctant bed-fellows (as it is generally not a good idea to break an alliance in the face of an equal power enemy), can the Vampires restrain themselves around the Horde and does the Horde leadership care? With Vol'jin he likely might, though he deals with death all the time while the more power hungry Sylvanas definately wouldn't care. The demands of Realpolitik- triumph over one's enemies- can trump all sorts of ethical considerations, as the history of the United States' involvement in clandestine operations and alliances with dictatorships shows (and, to be clear, China/Soviet Union/Russia certainly do these things as well).

Its after these conflicts, when the needs of Realpolitk are no longer a factor, that the thieves are more likely to fall out, as the saying goes.

I would expect similar, though lower scale, problems to apply to the Alliance and the Empire/Brettonians with some practices (Alliance allowing Warlocks tacit permission to exist, if under approval, the mass bonfires of the Witch Hunters of innocents, the sheer oppression of the Brettonian peasants etc).

I look forward to covering the rebirth of Gilneas!

 **Hakuryuu**

Thanks for taking the time to check out my fic!

It will take some time for Chaos cults to start as those would-be instigators have no idea where to start, where cities are located, the areas which might be receptive to a new teaching, what discontent to prey on etc. I have a rather large list of tactics that cults use and motivations they prey on and an analysis would need to be conducted to see how they would apply to Warcraft

And then, once that is located they will run into a host of other problems. Competition, for not every personality is receptive to cultist proganda and those that are already being polysized by followers of the Burning Legion, the Scourge, the Old Gods and probably a couple of other odd sources. Competition with the state sponsored relgions of the Light and Elune who, as I already stated, can pretty much apply miracles whenever asked, surpassing the rates that Old World religons ( even Chaos) can do . In other words, Tzeentch doesn't answer everytime something is asked of him by a devoted acolyte while the Light pretty much does.

Suppression, for Warcraft does have several spy and counter-espionage agencies like the SI:7, Dreadstalkers and, of course, those roving champions-adventurers (lore names for PCs) who break another power every year. It's a myth that the people of Warcraft are overly naïve – more liberal by far than Warhammer factions yes, but also bound by shared civilizational ethics that frown on traits that lead to Chaos cults.

That is something I plan on getting into in the future.

Its not that Chaos cannot set up cults- they will, in time- it's a question of how effective they will be

Regarding Lesser known factions- I currently have a 32,000 word codex completed on one sitting for a later chapter. I touch up upon, in it, factions like Cathay, Ind and the Warhammer Naga.

Regarding magical contests- no the Higher end Warhammer mages are *generally* more powerful than Warcraft equivalents with certain exceptions and I personally think Khadgar and Jaina could handily beat any Asur mage not named Teclis and perhaps lesser Slann (as, contrary to fan theory, there are some…'controls' on the way they use their geomantric web). Though Mazdamundi and Teclis are likely more powerful than the individuals I mentioned

-I Like Gatehammer!

-Regarding Gotrek, Thanquol, Lokir etc all I can say is stay tuned. I have definite plans regarding two of those and it shouldn't be hard to form a plot point for the third.

-The problem with vamps infiltrating the Alliance is that, while it can be done, there is also the problem that Warcraft magic is everywhere and I have no doubt could be used to force the Lahmians into the open if a suspected member is identified. For example the Light automatically burns any undead and can even sense them. Don't get me wrong, Neferata's agents are very well trained, gifted and I can see them doing better than any Horde infiltrator . Its just I think it would be harder for them than doing so to the Empire or Brettonia.

-I will feature Pandaria at some point.

In regards to your second post, I am keeping the events of the Val'sharah campaign secret, for now. Rest assured that I have already done my analysis though with detailed explanations like I did for populations above.

 **Guest Responder April 20**

You are absolutely correct and my apologies if I might have hinted otherwise, as sometimes I rush out my posts too early.

Warcraft magic is, right now, as weak as not weaker than Warhammer magic is Azeroth. If you were to drop a arcane mage on Mallus he would struggle to conjure even the weakest fireball with Arcane and, though I am still trying to assess just what degree a WC magic user could tap into the WHF magic systems (and vice versa) without the long extended training, such a mage would be opening himself to damnation.

That said, the magic can spread through the same mechanics as Mallus magic onto Azeroth. Or most of them.

There are six primary types of magic in Warcraft: **Void, Light, Arcane, Fel** , **Nature** (including Shamanism) and Death.

The Arrival of Dimensius the All-Devouring onto Kharesh establishes that **Void and arcane magics** can plunge into this reality like water through a broken damn if there is a whole in it. This is somewhat like the Winds of Magic.

The Felcan likewise be spread in that manner, either emanating through portals (as the various Legion invasions shows us), being spread by the daemons of the Legion themselves wherever they walk or by their mortal followers.

Based on my conjecture, that the **Light** is supposed to be the equal and opposite of the Void, and that the Void has its own realm and the Light has its own, that the Light could, in theory, be spread the same way. Either through portals to a light sanctified place or be servants of the Light, most notably the Naaru. I would imagine if a Naaru crossed over right now it would spend some time channeling more magic in, acting as a conduit for the light. I would also imagine the dark and bright places of Mallus could help attract the Light/Void easier, just as Uglu and Hysh might be attracted to those areas on Azeroth more, even if the overall level of 'foreign' magic on those worlds is low.

Which leaves the trickiest…druidism and shamanism.

 **Druidism** draws magic from the life within all things and is connected to shamanism, albeit loosely. As Warhammer has a different system of life than Warcraft, and as I am trying my best to keep such metaphysical stuff initially separate, I would say most low level druids would have a very hard time conjuring magic there. That said, the more powerful druids have direct spiritual connections to the Emerald Dream and through it the Titan Azeroth. Though their magic might be delayed, if there is any connection at all between Mallus-Azeroth (like a portal) I would imagine they could , with difficulty, summon magic from the Emerald Dream to themselves.

Moreover, druids would still be able to manipulate the magical energies _**within themselves**_ and, thus, I think it is reasonable for a druid on Mallus to shapeshift into one of their forms.

 **Shamans are screwed.** A vulgar statement but they are.

The good news is that I actually think they could manipulate magic on Mallus right here and now. Their whole powers come from making deals with sentients elementals and then commanding their power. Sentient elements do exist in Warhammer and, in fact, I have a big list of references of them appearing everywhere from Araby to the Empire to in the hands of a Cathay practioner. They are not common- in fact I think they are rare- but they exist.

The bad news is that these entities are, at best, capricious and untrustworthy and, at worst, actively malevolent and corrupt. More than likely they are going to refuse the idea of bargaining with a shaman or, if they are interested, will attach so many malovelent clauses and be so unreliable as to make the deal not really worth it. They are again rare and there is no gestalt spirit to talk to (like "Spirit of Fire" ) like there is in Warcraft.

Thus the poor Warcraft shaman would be left with either trying to work with such a deal or go the route of Garrosh's Dark Shamans and try to force their will over a Warhammer elemental. Which is not wise, as I think the average Warhammer elemental is pound for pound more powerful than the Warcraft one, if balanced out by the latter outnumbering the former many times over.

Death is something I need to explore more in detail when I get to the Forsaken .

The second half of the comment is also something I am making note of to investigate as I explore those factions and their interactions is more detail. I certainly am looking at how Warcraft magic users might use Warhammer magic and vice versa, as well as how common that might be.

P.S. Apologies for the rudeness but please use more periods in the future. It makes your post easier to read.

 **The Guest named High**

Thank you for the review!

In regards to the first part please read the response to "Guest Responder April 20" where I talk about Warcraft magic and Malus (which is why I placed your comment placement after.

And yes, you are absolutely right, the culture shock is going to be massive all around. Though some will seek new bonds and even form admirations with the outsiders, others will look upon those traits with disdain. I have been dripping slowly into talking about such shock but, needless to say, there will be contempt shown, accusations, even conflict. There will be passive effects, like some in the Alliance viewing elements of Brettonia as barbaric and seeking to change it while some in the Empire might resent Stormwind for some 'brain drain'- i.e. some smart engineers leaving the Empire for new opportunities and less oppression in the Azeroth kingdom.

Your next section is hard to answer in full. All I will say is ask me this question again, if you wish, after I have concluded the Val'sharah campaign. It should give you a big idea on how I view a Azerothian superpower in motion, along with some advantages and disadvantages Mallus/Azeroth have over each other.

Nikhil is right- your population estimates come from the non-canon RPG and, as I stated in my analysis, don't fit with the rest of lore. They are low numbers without weight.

Also the Alliance and Horde (well Alliance more than Horde) would probably not want to conquer or occupy new lands, and don't. Instead during campaigns we see them focus on the defeat of the enemy as a military threat, along with long term base building and resource exploitation. But no troops in the cities if they can help it.

Also, my apologies but please use more periods. It makes your post easier to read.

…..

* * *

 **With that a wrap I have two questions for you all.**

 **Which format would you like me to use for the remaining arc? Would you like me to Continue what I am doing, focusing on one brother at a time like so**

-Tamurkhan 1

-Tamurkhan 2

-Tamurkhan 3

Subotakhan 1

2

Etc

OR would you like me to do a round robin style, where I go Tamurkhan 1-Subotakhan 1-Omedkhan 1- Kubotakhan 1 Tamurkhan 2 etc?

The advantages of the second is that, narratively, each different segment is supposed to happen at the same time (Subotakhan 1 happens during the events of Tamurkhan 1 for instance) which might make it easier to follow. The disadvantages are is that I am 9/10s done with the next Tamurkhan chapter and doing it Round robin style would delay my next post quite a bit.

I will leave the answer to you all.

I am expending my reading list to giain knowledge to help me in writing this fic. For example, I have read most of the Temenaire series for ideas on how to conduct air warfare as well as logistical management in a pre-modern setting and Invisible Armies on how guerillas might wage war. I also have such greats as Malazan, Practical Guide to Evil and Powder Mage series on the Horizon.

 **My question is, thus, what books would you recommend reading to gain some inspiration for fantasy?**

Lastly here are some sources you all should read, for they served as inspiration for me

"Mega-Tutorial on worldbuilding Medieval Towns, Cities, Population, Professions, Armies, Technology, Justice, and Trade!" – Reddit

"Notes on Medieval Population Geography" – Medium

"Medieval Demographics Made Easy"

And now a moment of silence for the late, great, Grumpy Cat- internet icon and adorable kitty-who shall be missed.


	11. The Long Slog

AN: As with last time this is split into three sections- Story, Author Notes/Reasoning & Authorial Responses.

* * *

 _He missed the peace of sleep, the time of quiet plots and schemes yet unhatched, which gestated in a place no other mortal could see. Yet solitude and secrecy had been banished to a place where even dreams seemingly couldn't reach and, instead, there was only the suffering of loathsome company._

 _Laughter followed like a shadow, as difficult to escape as the inevitability of death._

 _ **Come now, haven't you heard the morale of the old children's story? A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality.**_

 _The figure, whose form was so often featureless, morphed once more, compressing and shifting until it had changed into that of a golden eyed elf woman of some elaborate fashion and regal bearing. So beautiful was new form that even Sayl, a man as hardened to such things as any could be, was unable to stifle a gasp._

 _A smile split across her features- and then split the features herself. In a flash of her form split half and half again in a manner Sayl hadn't even seen the Chaos god's device. She was a man, except where she was not; she was a serpent, except where she was a daemon-beast with its horned foot._

 _The voice was manic now, filled with mirth and madness and temptation and scorn of equal measure._

 _ **And Together We Shall Make Our Dreams A Reality.**_

 _The voice ended with a laugh from hell that woke the warlord up in a terror._

 _It was then that Sayl realized it was his own throat making the noise._

* * *

For the next day and night Tamurkhan kept his warriors on a near constant forced march, his desire to reach the prophesied promise merging with his desire to punish his army for their insubordination. Plague Warriors patrolled the rear and sides, assaulting those that sought to sneak away from the army or who fell behind. Quite a few of these stragglers or deserters were slain, their trinkets taken as trophies and their bodies to be used as fodder for when it came time to feed.

The Plague Warriors or their unaligned equivalents never suffered, of course. They had left behind mortal pains of exhaustion and hunger and dehydration as part of the obscene pacts that saw them awarded their armor in the first place. However the mortal parts of the army still suffered from mortal afflictions and the punishment added to the feeling of disgruntlement across the entire force. They longed for an outlet of their aggression, as the battle over the Moonguard Stronghold had offered precious little opportunities for bloodletting and an amplification of their frustration.

All scions of Chaos are selfish, whether they are beastkin or Northman or neverborn, with chaos commanders only achieving their control through sheer force of will, dominating presence backed by divine blessings, and auras that appealed to the collective Id of those that followed them. The belief that if they followed this warlord on his Path of Glory that they too might achieve some sort of divine award- or at least the sating of the dark desires that was in every one of their hearts.

Beyond this, and a mutual contempt for the children of order, they held little intrinsic comradery with one another. Indeed, they often hated one another, seeing even those who worshiped the same gods as rivals. Thus, with the frustration and resentment over their treatment taking away from what little discipline existed, it wasn't uncommon to find corpses alongside the march route who had been done in by rivals. This was taken in stride by the plague warriors, many of whom had their own rivalries, and were merely added to the supplies that the Chaos Dwarfs were in charge of maintaining.

This turned out to be a wise move on Tamurkhan's part, for the Chaos Dwarfs were creative with their logistics- they had already scrapped much of what they could from the ruins of the Moonguard fortress, metal from long abandoned buildings that the horde had come across and collected most of the dead that had fallen, along with animals they had hunted. Of course the Northmen grumbled (though never in earshot to a Dawi Zharr, who were liable to punish such behavior) that the Chaos Dwarfs kept the best food and salvage for themselves and left men only barely digestible offal and scraps afterwards.

This was absolutely true of course. Their pact required them to handle supplies and keep the Northmen fed- there was nothing in the bargain about keeping them content or healthy. And, to be honest, Tamurkhan, Sayl and the other Chaos warlords did not care enough to press Drazhoath on this issue. After all, the Chaos Dwarfs had- thus far- found a way to manage not only the rations of the human portions of the horde, but those of the beastkin and giant monsters too, who were creatures with different metabolisms and different rationing needs (re: amount) than humans.

So it was, under these conditions, that the Chaos Horde meandered its way to the river that separated the province of Suramar from Val'shara. There they found evidence of destroyed bridges- a sign that their approach had not gone unnoticed. With his eyes narrowed to the horizon, Tamurkhan ordered the Dawi Zharr to build him a new set of bridges.

It began to rain.

* * *

From the beginning, Jarrod Shadowsong knew that he had no chance of beating Tamurkhan conventionally. At least not yet. From his scouts he knew that the enemy forces numbered well into the many tens of thousands while his own professional troops- the Sentinels- had only a muster of somewhere between 2-3000. Val'sharah was a province that saw little need of an active military after all and most of what military it had had been sent to Kalimdor to assist with the conflicts there.

This turnout could and would be boosted, of course, for the priestesses of Elune's Temple- the closest things to rulers of this land- had all but ceded temporal authority to him, a fact that still left Jarrod feeling disquiet. He had never understood the rationale behind the near unquestioning trust his people had put in him even in the War of the Ancients, much less that they continued to do so after nearly ten millennium of self-exile.  
Regardless, he had since ordered the general recall of all 'retired' sentinels in the province who, of course, were nearly as physically fit as any active duty soldier. Ten millennia of immortality had its benefits after all. However, undoubtedly most of those would be tied up with assisting civilians, for Jarrod had already ordered large swathes of the province by the central road evacuated. Others would be preparing positions up ahead or ill-suited to the current escapade. And so only two hundred mounted riders - all of them given bows, per his orders- along with the usual glaives and lances- had accompanied him to the trees by the river bank. Here they waited, with bow mount and rider melding into the shadows.

Meanwhile Broll Bearmantle was leading the effort to awaken and gather the various druid covens of the province. As the most pure embodiment of the Emerald Dream on Azeroth, Val'shara had long been a mecca to the druid kindreds and more of them existed in this province than any other realm save Moonglade itself.

And with the druids of Cenarius would come Cenarius' children as well; the playful dryads and stoic keepers. Emissaries were already on their way to persuade other potential allies, the Furbolgs and the Gilnean town of Bradensbrook, to lend their aid.

Perhaps if he could muster every ally in Val'shara at one time, at one place, it would be enough to challenge the invaders on a single field. Yet he knew he couldn't muster such an army on time while coordinating an evacuation and so it would be up to a...foreign army to achieve victory.

News traveled fast on Azeroth nowadays. While in ancient times messengers had to rely on ships and nightsaber riders and trained owls now major events could reach the ears of rulers within minutes after the event so long as commanders had access to portals (which Val'sharah, courtesy of the newly returned moonguard, had). While these portals were inefficient for the deployment of armies, they could allow individuals or small groups to cross vast distances in moments.

As a result, within hours of the first Moonguard emissary to the Temple of Elune, Darnassus had been warned as well. And within a day of that warning, the orders had been sent to muster an army to defend Val'sharah. That army was now inbound, though it would only arrive by the end of the month. It was thus Jarrod's job to ensure there was still a province to fight over by then.

To that end Jarrod had identified two primary objectives. The first was to slow the enemy force to a crawl, to make them struggle over every inch of terrain. Through this, he hoped to delay the enemy long enough for the Sentinel army to arrive so that they could make a decisive stand. The more causality that the enemy took during this process, the better.

The second objective was to; if possible, break off portions of the enemy army in preparation for the arrival of the Kalimdor force. This way the enemy would have less troops- even if only fractionally- for the battles with the Darnassen relief that would ultimately control the fate of this province. This of course brought its own problems, for splitting the enemy into pieces would amplify the ruin the enemy had already brought over a wider area, and could potentially limit his troops movement. Yet the former was judged a secondary concern to ensuring Darnassian triumph (which wasn't certain, in Jarrod's mind) and given the Kaldorei's superior knowledge of the land, these enemy fragments could be isolated and destroyed later on.

One of his subordinates had pointed out that the enemy human force seemed to move at snail's pace and that perhaps the Kaldorei could lead them into circles into the forest and gradually wear them down through guerrilla tactics. Jarrod had reluctantly dismissed this plan due to the incredible numbers they were dealing with and the presence of the World Tree. Towering over the Val'sharah skyline, any enemy aerial scout would be able to see it as a guiding beacon to drive their armies.

No, the determining battle would need to be fought in a field if the Kaldorei wanted to protect either the Temple of Elune or the World Tree. However, to aid the Sentinels, he decided a secondary objective would to ensure the destruction or death of key enemy units, like the walking armored colossi or the strange, fel-looking artillery pieces.

Destroying the bridges was the first act.

As he watched, the enemy moved to and fro, cutting down trees as if they were hated foes. He was somewhat surprised to hear the growl of some of his Kaldorei retinue; evidently, his people had come to venerate nature more than he had suspected during his absence. Still, they were as disciplined as any in the world and held their fire.

It would not do to announce their presence just yet.

* * *

The construction proceeded remarkably quickly for the Chaos Dwarfs rushed the process in a manner that seemed out of character to them. Yet that could not be farther from the truth. These bridges weren't for their own troops after all, but the humans, and thus things like structural integrity became unnecessary considerations...though in truth, even a bridge made by apathetic Dawi Zharr builders was better than anything a Northman could do.

Too, the Chaos Dwarfs were fortunate in that the river was not that deep, or particularly turbulent. Indeed, a few of those Northmen that knew how to swim had already done so, though others waited pensively at the shoreline. A simple pontoon bridge likely could provide the stabilization necessary for the humans...while the Dawi Zharr would spend more time building the ones their legions would ultimately use, which would need to hold more weight given that the war machines would be traveling over it.

Giants and ogres, who were easily able to wade through the waters, placed the piers at their master's direction.  
Murky as the water was, they did not notice the shoals of fish moving towards the ogres, among other animals. Large inland barracuda, freshwater sharks, giant snapping turtles and, directing them all, sea lions that moved with a deadly sort of intelligence. The water was poisonous to them, courtesy of all the fifth the chaos creatures were spreading, but they would have to make due for a time.

Then one of the giants cried out in shrill agony as a purple bolt the size of a tree trunk flew into its eye. Drazhoath's gaze swiveled over to the forest, where one of the strange mages from the stronghold stood, looking winded from her spellcraft but triumphant. Drazhoath snarled with rage as he mentally calculated the diminished selling price for a one eyed giant even as his mouth moved to order those Northmen who had already swam across to butcher her.

Eager for bloodletting the two dozen or so marauders ran with trademark zeal. They didn't make it twenty feet before a hailstorm of arrows emerged from the hidden places of the forest and proliferated them like overstuck boar.

Drazhoath squinted in surprise, glaring very intently at the shadows in the forest that now, to his further glance, appeared almost unnatural. Yes, he could make out the faintest outlines of shapes in those places; a benefit of his Dwarfen biology and the result of living in the dark underground and the now darker surface world of the Dark Lands.

Other Kurgan, drawn by the love of glory that overcame their reluctance to tread murky waters, crossed in a great horde.

It was then that the water creatures struck, en masse, and in their thousands. Men, horses and ogres bellowed in surprise and pain as the creatures tore at their exposed nethers, ripping into the meat with teeth razor-sharp, along with other nasty natural weapons. Here a man's leg broke under the crushing jaws of a snapping turtle; there another was disemboweled by the teeth of a barracuda.

Water that was murky before with grime and filth turned sanguine with gore and blood. His giants yelped and, hastily with a couple of big booming steppes, retreated to the safe side of the river.

The wounded giant made to follow them, still clutching a hand on his wounded socket, but as he took his first step on the shore a creature burst from the river to grasp its legs. No, not a creature and Drazhoath gasped in surprise as he realized that it was vines that accosted his giant and, with a firm pull, made the un-balanced thing fall backwards into the water.  
The Chaos Dwarf's keen eyesight could see dozens of figures- fish, snapping turtles, sharks etc.- rush towards the giant's now submerged neck and face before the frenzy of violence made the river too opaque even for his Darksight to see.

Drazhoath fumed, literally, as his rage drew the molten wrath of Hashut himself towards the sorcerer. Then, with a muttered curse, the Chaos Dwarf infused the water with volcanic heat, bringing it to a swift boil.

The screams of men and ogres grew far shriller now, as the Chaos Dwarf had no mercy for them, having already written out their economic value. Men had no real worth in a horde of tens of thousands after all, and though the handful of plague ogres in the water might have some actual value, Drazhoath knew he could barter down the recompense to mere pittance- Tamurkhan was not very good at haggling, after all. Besides, the horde would feast well on seafood tonight.

The fish writhed in torment as their skin flaked and melted. Those fortunate enough to be near the edge of his spell leapt to unheated waters, while the more desperate jumped towards the shores, betting a death by suffocation on land was better than death by boiling. Drazhoath's concentration nearly faltered as a handful of the creatures that leapt out of the waters morphed into elves, revealing scalded figures who tried to heal themselves or their more motionless companions with strange magics.

Drazhoath barked an order to nearby Hobgoblins, who milled about in their dozens watching the spectacle. Arrows were brought to bows and a couple of the elves were cut down were cut down by the mass sent against them. A couple others fled and Drazhoath watched in amazement as their forms shifted once more, from elves to great stags, before fleeing into the forests as they evaded another volley of scattered arrows.

Drazhoath fumed as he saw that, before they had died, the fish had torn apart what bridge foundations had been lain. Production would be delayed as his beasts would be forced to start over once more.

It took three days for the chaos host to fully cross that bridge, a delay necessitated both by the sheer size of the Chaos horde, the need for multiple bridges and continual Night Elf sabotage though, after the second attempt was destroyed by fire arrows, Drazhoath and Tamurkhan had been fed up enough to order Orbaal and his dragons to scorch the opposing treeline.

With the exception of a few stray arrows here and there hitting the unwary, bridge production proceeded at full speed.

* * *

The skirmish at the bridge was the first in a series of running skirmishes that would define the Val'shara campaign. From now until the arrival of the main Sentinel army, the campaign would not be defined by pitched battles or sieges or fighting on fields, but constant small unit attacks at every measure, sabotage and assassinations of petty chieftains.

Admittedly, Jarod Shadowsong was adapting to this manner of warfare easier than his opponent. Though the wizened Kaldorei would never admit as much, the priestesses of Elune had made the best possible choice available to them. Jarrod was not only the venerated veteran who had led the Kaldorei to victory in the War of the Ancients, but a commander to whom innovation was intuitive. He had commanded multi-racial coalitions, even ordered about literal demi-gods, against armies that had outmatched his in power, and though guerrilla warfare of such nature was unfamiliar to him, he was swiftly learning it with the help of several trained sentinels captains under his command, portalled over on behalf of Shandris Feathermoon.

Tamurkhan, meanwhile, would struggle more. He and the other Nurglites did not, by their very nature, readily adapt to swift change and to new modes of warfare. While it was true that Tamurkhan's experience in war was much greater than Jarrod's (for, though the Night Elf was older, most of that had been spent in self-imposed exile while Tamurkhan had been fighting near continuously for millennia), he never before had to face such unrelenting guerilla tactics on an organized level. True, such manner of warfare existed in the Chaos Wastes, but the conductors there were tribes, rather than organized nations with supernatural powers and a complete mastery of the terrain.

Yet, inexperience only tells part of the story and it must be said that if the Night Elves were the Stormcrow- darting in fast and swooping out- then the Tamurkhan was the dragon, an immense beast who could survive innumerable such blows. The numerical discrepancy was vast by whole orders of magnitude and, with much of the already tiny Sentinel garrison occupied with assisting evacuations, Jarrod only had a shadow of a shadow force to help delay.

It was the Dolgan chieftain Halgar Borcath that put it best when he said "They are trying to kill a mammoth with a needle and succeeding only in filling him with the Hound's wrath."

However, the Kaldorei force was growing by the day, as the scouts of Broll Bearmantle succeeded in arousing more druid enclaves, along with their forest allies. The Dreamgrove- a union of various druid kindreds- was already mobilizing its vast resources for the fight, while the Druids of the Talon of the Shrine of Aviana commanded flying creatures of every sort and breed to spy on the enemy's movements and bring constant word of their every movement to Jarrod's staff.

The Druids of the Moon- the first to join- were currently being held in reserve, to serve as healers .Though the Druids of the Antler initially buckled at the order, Jarrod eventually persuaded many of them to serve as mounts for the sentinels, almost tripling his mounted response force. Indeed, the followers of Malorne offered many advantages a Nightsaber could not provide, for in this case the 'mount' was capable of turning into an allied spellcaster at a moment's notice.

However many kindreds had yet been contacted, with the most notable of those being the Druids of the Claw & and the Druids of the Branch, both of whom were essential to Shadowsong's plans. Of those by far the most populated were the Druids of the Claw, with dozens of different enclaves split over the province, though reaching them was a time consuming task.

That said Jarrod had already acquired the services of dozens of them by the time the Kurgan managed to cross that river and had already turned what was once a paved road of the old Kaldorei Empire into a sea of trees, sprung up in mere hours. The druids hadn't been happy to perform the task, since they could guess the ultimate fate of the trees, but had acquiesced.

The chaos horde lingered for a bit at the treeline, their eyes hovering suspiciously at the broken road and the trees that lined them. They could not taste the magic as easily as they could in their own homeland, but they were knowledgeable enough to know that what came before them was no natural occurrence.

Tamurkhan recognized the same, having seen a vision of a long, winding road that simply was not there anymore. Angrily, he ordered Drazhoath and Sayl to lend their beasts of war to the task, and with a vengeance mammoth and giant alike took to the task, trampling them underfoot or using hands, tusks and snouts to uproot them. Meanwhile outriders and scouts pushed on ahead, determined to prevent the Kaldorei from assailing the beasts once more.

The advance was slowed, but only barely so, for the giant beasts could clear trees with relative ease and, by the third day, Jarrod called off the druid growers, rationalizing that the effort was not worth it given the human's speed at undoing it. However, an alternate plan had begun to form and, dozens of miles ahead of the Chaos force, druids and civilian volunteers began to tear up the road as before, leaving only dirt and mud.

Meanwhile the Sentinels had begun to break apart into smaller groups, slinking through the forests unseen. "Make them fear the forest" was their command, and the sentinels took to the order with zeal. Led by veterans of the bitter campaigns over Ashenvale, the Night Elves began stalking outriders, scouts and sentries. Physically superior though they were, the humans were at a huge disadvantage in the unfamiliar forests, while the elven physiology and sensory lent itself better to stealth operations which, combined with their own millennia training and supernatural shadowmelding proved absolutely decisive.

To these cadres Jarod added his own additions, for the venerable commander had a knack for innovation. A couple dozen Moonguard had fled to Val'shara via portals when the marauders had overtaken them. Together with a handful of Highborne apprentices visiting the province (the HIghborne themselves still were reluctant to visit, for fissures had not fully healed since the War of the Ancients) these mages were divvied up and one half of which were assigned to cadres in pairs. Their role would be supporting rather than combat, for many could open small 'gaps' between two places to instantly cross. It was thanks to them that Jarod received a near continuous stream of reports and information regarding his foe. Moreover, though he was told portals were inefficient at moving whole armies through they excelled at maneuvering individuals and small groups, allowing for light reinforcement or the evacuation of those too grievously wounded for even the druids to heal.

Of course, the manipulation of so many strands of leylines did not come without consequences and Jarod had to keep half of the mages at his HQ at the Temple of Elune. In the short term, they would help create portals from their end though once the temple had been turned into a nexus of energies, then the mages could lend their might directly to the conflict.

The existence of such mages would normally be enough to draw the protests of the more conservative Kaldorei, even considering their Alliance with the mageocracy of Dalaran. "The Humans are still young" these detractors would say, "and will come to see how truly dangerous and corruptive the arcane is, in time and with our banished kin to serve as examples" (referring to the Quel'dorei and their Sin'dorei descendants). The existence of Kaldorei mages who still practiced the arcane was enough to cause the temper of these traditionalists Kaldorei to rise, and the knowledge that they were now tampering with energies best left untapped in the most sacred holy place of their goddess.

Only a hastily written missive from Tyrande herself calmed the near riot at his orders and Jarod knew the former well enough that she herself was restraining quiet anger in her words. Jarod, for his part, was reminded once more why he left his people for isolation in the first place.

The druids too, were split up, continuing a process that Shandris had wisely started over a decade ago. Each kindred added their strength in unique ways. Those of the claw- the panther and bear- aided the Sentinels in their sorties, raking their enemy with tooth and claw. Those of the Branch played a role in healing and rejuvenation of the injured, as well as using their mastery of nature to grow twigs into spear - or, better- arrow sized implements in moments.

* * *

At first the disappearances were little noticed affairs and, if detected at all, were put down as deserters. Then the bodies began to be found marked by visages of unseeing horror and blood drained throats or arrow penetrated skulls. The numbers of these scout patrols were increased, gradually, but the Elves were confident, and could even annihilate small groups quietly more often than not. Eventually the size of these patrols came to swell into what might be called small armies. However, even then the Kaldorei would take pot shots from the forests or pick off stragglers unseen. Most of the time, these saboteurs were not caught.

Moreover, Tamurkhan had another limitation that delayed his army, one that was beyond even his capacity to control: logistics. With the exception of the Chaos Warriors, who existed now only to fulfill their god's will, the army needed food to eat, and a lot of it at that. When tens of thousands of bellies rumbled, even Tamurkhan was forced to slow his pace to accommodate.

For three to four hours of the day, Tamurkhan had to halt his forces so that the men could fill their bellies. Though all craved meat, it was rare that a hunter returned with a deer or some other creature, for reasons that ranged from the fact that the creatures tended to flee from the loud and frightening army to sabotage as druids used their nature speaking abilities to warn said creatures away and the tendency of the sentinels to ambush those lone or small group hunters.

The trees thus became the main source of subsistence of the Northmen, who tore through bark for every bit of nutrients and used the excess wood for great fires that dotted the land. From an aerial view, the advanced of Tamurkhan's army resembled a blackened scar much like that which blighted the distant province of the Ghostlands. However, the forests had their own manner of resisting and, for every ninety nine trees felled, one would suddenly come alive to try and tear apart its surprised assaulters with wicked foot long claws. This ratio would only worsen as the druids became increasingly involved.

Of course the Northmen were meat eaters at heart and few wanted or desired to devour the bitter bark. They dug through the earth for insects, feasted on everything they killed and even engaged in rampant cannibalism. Everybody that was slain whether it be Kaldorei hands, by the hostile province itself or, increasingly, by the Northmen themselves, was harvested and eaten down to the bone- and even that was broken down into gruel.

The Chaos Dwarfs had been excellent at extracting every last bit of meat from anything in their possession and, though they always saved the best portions from themselves and left everyone else with barely digestible gruel, they had ensured the horde had at least a modicum of food and rationing. Yet even they struggled when it came to feeding the monsters of the horde- the giants, dragons, and other giants- along with the hundreds of trolls and ogres. Meat eaters all, more often than not the bodies the Chaos Dwarfs acquired were not enough, and through Tamurkhan's edicts the non-Nurglite tribes were forced to turn over their weakest for the feeding trough. Much jockeying occurred within these tribes to avoid such designation.

It was in this state at the end of the first week that Jarrod finally gave the order for a night attack.

* * *

 **STORMWIND**

Generally speaking, the leaders of the Alliance only held group meetings for three reasons; the induction of a new faction into their ranks, the coordination of a new or ongoing war or the memorial/celebration of the conclusion of one of those said conflicts. Though leaders can and did meet each other independently, one on one, the conferences in which the entire Alliance leadership together at once was supposed to be a rare occasion, not least of which was the cost of providing security for the entire venue.

Instead, they had met dozens of times over the last decade alone and increasingly a formally rare occasion was becoming seen as routine.

Even now the secretive SI: 7 and the illustrious 7th Legion patrolled the streets of Stormwind, while royal guard of a dozen nations and species surrounded the keep. No celebrations or welcoming awaited the heads of allied states, no anxious onlookers trying to get glimpses of legends they had heard about from the town cryers. Instead the citizens of the Alliance's unofficial capital continued about their day as if nothing was out of the ordinary, the only differences being the occasional smiles, waves and salutes to stoic Legionaires and grim-faced SI:7 Agents.

Inside the keep the leaders of the world's mightiest superpower gathered around a table that spanned most of the room. In the past entire campaigns had been plotted here, responses to the ceaseless political turmoil of the recent years determined.

At the head of the table stood the mighty king of this host nation, the current High King of the Alliance, Varian Wrynn. A man of abnormal size and strength, this king was a war leader at heart and stood in sharp contrast to the blond haired teen standing right next to him, who sought peace above all else.

The pair stood observing the figurines on the table, depicting an unfamiliar continent, as the other leaders arrived via portal.

From Ironforge arrived the Dwarf congregation, a trio of three regals that came through followed shortly by their note-keepers. They were the tattooed Falstad Wildhammer, representing the Wildhammer clan, the legendary warrior Muradin Bronzebeard, representing the Bronzebeard clan and Moira Thraussian, who, though originally a Bronzebeard princess, had come to take charge of the Dark Iron Clan.

The King and Prince extended greetings with all of them, and were pleased to see that the Dwarfs stood with a sort of comradery with one another, if a wary one. The dwarf kindreds had been at odds with one another for hundreds of years and though divisions remained, clearly progress was being made.

A few minutes later a peculiar figure manifested into the meeting room. Unlike the others, who arrived via portal, the High Tinker Mekkatorque used an experimental device that the gnome claimed "beamed" him in. The exact mechanics escaped the king and the prince, though the Gnome claimed it was both a different form of teleportation than arcane portals and 'the means of the future, for when one does not have the services of the mage". Privately, the pair was just glad that one of the device's many "glitches" did not occur, for the Gnomes played hard with experimental sciences.

There was a flash of almost blinding light for a moment, and when it was gone a single Draenei stood in its place. The venerable Draenei stood towering above both all those present and who had yet to arrive, both in stature and years. He was Prophet Velen and his eyes reflected the experience and wisdom of epochs. None failed to bow politely before him, with the Prince especially happy to see his teacher.

Next arrived the Gilnean King Genn Greymane, striding through the door flanked by a pair of his wolf guard. Both Stormwindian regals welcomed the king with a degree of amicability and formality, for they saw each other regularly. The Gilneans were a refugee people, courtesy of horde actions and atrocities in their homeland, and Genn split his time between Stormwind and Teldrassil, where the majority of his people were located.

Another burst of energy and another figure manifested inside the meeting room, a human woman in her early thirties. Anduin jumped up to greet his "Auntie" Jaina Proudmoore with much warmth, however the king just nodded his acknowledgement and gave her a stern, knowing look that Jaina, her head on the Prince's shoulder, returned with wariness.

More figures arrived from the various Alliance nations and sub-factions such as the Pandaren Aysa Cloudsinger, master of the Tuishi way, Vereesa Windrunner of the Silver Covenant, the Pearlfin Elder, the rightful ruler of Stromgarde Danath Trollbane etc. Though none of these factions had anywhere near the power of the seven, they were permitted representation all the same. Included in this group were a number of noted generals like 7th Legion Commander Wyrmbane and Sky Admiral Rogers, with Spymaster Mathias Shaw watching from the back.

And then, at last, came the seventh; a final portal. From its depths emerged a pair of figures, each alone older than any race present save Velen's. One of them wore a long, finely decorated gown that was as white as the moon she served, the other stood in more simple attire but made all the more notable by the unique combination of elf and animals limbs. They were Tyrande Whisperwind and Malfurion Stormrage, leaders of the Kaldorei and the figures who called this meeting today.

With pleasantries exchanged, Tyrande moved to address the gathered dignitaries. Never one for excessive formality when it came to the needs of her people, she skipped it.

"I wish I had better news to bring with me. It seems like not a year goes by where some evil force comes to us, trying to annihilate our people or planet. This year my people are the target. " She pointed at the map, at a province most present were only vaguely aware of. "Our lands are being invaded. From what our commanders in the field report, the enemy marches in armies the size of which has not been seen in millennia, and Val'sharah lacks the troops to defend it. We invoke our mutual bond and ask for your aid, as we have aided you."

It was often claimed by the Horde that the Alliance held no true bonds of friendship or loyalty, that only self-interest and fear of the Horde tied the disparate kingdoms together. Yet this it was a falsehood and any Alliance leader would simply say that the Horde was projecting what was true for their own faction falsely onto the other.

The Alliance had grown from a defensive organization to something more. Ties of honor, mutual goals, personal friendship, even kinship- whether actual or in-all-but-blood- bond the faction now, even in the more aloof leaders. So it was that when Tyrande asked, none of them, even the leaders with historical reputations for being self-centered (Greyman and Moria) balked at the request. All that was asked was who and why.

At this Tyrande hesitated. She had deliberately not identified the invaders in the reports she sent ahead of the meeting, only the devastation they left. Mostly because she wanted to see the reactions of her fellow leaders firsthand.

Now she did. At her command a Lunar Viewing Device- a magical means of communication both visual and audible, her own people's new adaption of the Gnomecorder- pulled up images of the invaders themselves. Visions collected from the minds of priestesses. She showed massive hulking colossi, ogres that appeared bloated and green, creatures that appeared vaguely like the Tauren but lacking any of that race's serenity, monstrous dragons and mammoths along with...

Some gasped, others leaned closer, and still others shook their heads in disbelief.  
Humans and Dwarfs images were shown only, these were not like any visions that the audience had ever seen. Vaguely, one might draw allusions from the physique of the new humans to those of the Vyrkul in both their tribal mannerisms and clear bloodlust. Yet the similarities ended fast, for these humans often sported alterations to their form that varied from everything to scale skin to hideous secondary or even tertiary mouths to stranger and more horrible alterations still.

Other images focused on the Dwarfs, who though less common than the humans were not less frightening. These creatures bore evil eyes that were as malevolent as any demon of the Legion and liked the humans often sported mutations, if a bit less pronounced. However, their cruelty was surely on display, with images showing the horrific torture of the humans and thin goblins under their 'care'.

The gasps turned collective as the images panned outward, showing the full extent of the size of this army. From hundreds of feet up it looked like this army stretched horizon to horizon.

It was the largest singular army they had ever seen.

As the vision faded to black, Tyrande turned to the crowd, her gaze wandering between the human leaders. There was a sense of sternness there but, also, understanding.

"It has been pointed out" she gave the briefest of glances to her husband here "that no race is immune to evil. Every creature, from the gentle dryad to the mighty dragon, has the unfortunate capacity to corruption. My own race is no exception, as every maritime nation is aware. " There were some mutual grimaces here, as an increase in Naga raids lately had inspired merchants to either plea for protection from the Alliance navy- which was already a bit overstretched- or carry as much armament and mercenaries as they did cargo. "It is not something we Kaldorei like to speak of, for many of my race remembers the individuals some of the Naga used to be, before Azshara led them into damnation. " She paused, then turned gently to the Prophet " I know the Kaldorei are not alone in viewing the corrupted with shame, anger and sadness"

He nodded, mournfully and, indeed, he understood the pain, understood better than even Tyrande, for no race in the cosmos was as far from the light as the Eredar.

The High Priestesses' eyes turned to the Dwarf and Human assembly, and they were harder now. Her voice was firm" I can understand the reluctance to speak of such a foul subject, but speak you all must, for these invaders are deep within verdant Val'sharah even as we speak. Every bit of knowledge you possess on these corrupted, my race needs, now. "

The assembly was silent with a mixture of anger and confusion, for, truly, all were as perplexed and aghast to the origin of these invaders as the others. All save three, and of those one was staring intensely at the other as the third watched both from the shadows.

But none of them spoke, instead it was a Dwarf- the armored Muradin, Lord of the Bronzebeards.  
"The Bronzebeards will pledge their aid, as I am sure all the Three Hammers will. But, truly, none o' us have ever seen these Dark evil looking blokes before."

He shook his head and his niece, Moira, quickly spoke up.  
"Aye, ta Dark Irons will lend our aid. But I resent the insinuation, we Dark Irons have wiped away the stains of our past along with Ragnaros. "

There was a lot of contention and context behind that claim, but no one here wanted to debate _that_ issue again. She also continued hurriedly, so as not to relitigate

"And none o' us recognize the dwarves yer visions showed us. They are paler than any dwarf I have seen other than those strange winter-folk up in Northrend, and their hideous attire does not match even them."

At this, Brann Bronzebeard took his turn to speak.

"Perhaps te answer lies in our past. We know te Titans seeded the lands with our ancestors the Earthen, perhaps these creatures come from another vault, only one found by te Old' Gods first."

There were some reluctant nods among the other Dwarfs here, though none truly wanted to think of a whole evil nation of their kind out there somewhere in the unexplored parts of Azeroth.  
The king was still looking intently at the Archmage, whose face showed a mess of emotions- frustration, embarrassment, annoyance and guilt.

"I ran some calculations and, unfortunately, I cannot say with a high degree of certainty are old god subversions which does suggest a new opponent. " Scientific, factual, a little squeaky, Gelbin Mekkatrogue now had the others' interest " the entities known as the Old Gods prefer their minions to have invertebrate organs known as 'tentacles' as shown by the race known as the N'Raqi. There is also a dearth of scales and those beard braids suggest vague attraction to fire though not' he looked at Moira here, who was on the verge of speaking up "akin to those the Dark Irons who served Ragnaros wore. Meanwhile the humans -"

"-Come from no known nation, as I have been to them all. " Spoke Greymane, a subtle growl always in the back of his throat. " I speak truthfully, I have never heard nor met those sorry excuses for men in my life, and know none that have. Perhaps they came from a tribal split off, early before the time of Arathor in those unwritten days. Though, if so, I have no idea where such a nation could have hidden for long without being detected. "

"Perhaps Jaina could tell us, for I'm sure we are all aware that the Eye of Dalaran sees and hears much."

The Wolf King had broken his silence. All eyes turned to the First Archmage, who shot the king an exasperated, defiant look. Seeing Tyrande's eyes upon her she reluctantly sighed, before saying

"Evidently, the 'Eye of Dalaran' sees less than the Shadows of Stormwind. I'll kindly thank Shaw for assigning operatives investigating internal Alliance affairs rather than placing them in Orgrimmar or Undercity. "

She sighed again, a bit more audibly this time

"However, to clarify I do not believe the invading Dwarfs or Humans come from a native if hidden Azerothian nation. I believe they come from another world entirely. "

She conjured up an image of a vast portal on the Broken Isles, through which an unfamiliar icy wild could be seen. All recognized the basic construct of the portal, so similar to the iconic gateway which currently lay inactive in the Blasted Lands, for though the hands that carved the devices were different, the demonic architects remained the same.

It spoke to the truths of the times that no one in the audience voiced any real skepticism over the prospect of otherworldly invaders. Only, their nature.

"So," began Greymane slowly " another new world has been discovered and this time, the invaders are not orcs or demons, but humans and dwarfs. I..." he was a bit at a loss for words here and, indeed, he was one of those who pained for normalcy that would never return "... I take it this is a world, a timeline where-... where we, the Alliance, _are the evil faction_." He practically spat the last words out, for it revolted the mind to consider almost as much as a heroic Garrosh or Sylvanas.

He was far from the only one. Others looked as equally disconcerted about fighting villainous versions of themselves or even considering the possibility of a honorable, heroic Horde. Alone among those gathered, Anduin was tempted to defend the Horde but held his tongue to avoid a derailing argument.

Gelbin Mekkatorque, however, was filled with odd, manic energy

"Fascinating, I have always wondered what a world might look like where the natural order is so inverted! Have I become a warlord in this timeline, using my people's factories to spit out war machines with optimum efficiency? Do the Gnomes of this universe hoard technology to themselves, inflicting utter annihilation any who threatens their technological monopoly? Is the Trade Prince Gallywix the "Charity Prince" here? Oh so many possibilities!"

Jaina- who had been trying to get a word in- sought to stop this conversation in its tracks.  
"Fortunately, we are not looking at a sad reflection of Azeroth here, but another world entirely. Or, at least that is what our expedition reported. According to their written testimony, this new world possesses a magical system different from any previously seen on Azeroth, while simultaneously lacking any known existing magical architypes. "

" That sounds like a wondrous discovery" began the High King dryly " I wish you had thought to share it with us before this emergency meeting. "

So we were here, then.

"I was planning to share it with you, _with all of you_ , at our next annual meeting. I did not see the need to present my findings prematurely when all my reports indicated there was no immediate threat from the gateway. "  
"Immediate threat? What, exactly, do you call an army of a hundred thousand, then? "

"Armies" spoke a single, quiet whisper from the back. Some turned but, predictably, did not see the Stormwind spymaster.

Annoyed, for she had only just received that report mere hours ago, Jaina spoke heatedly "Yes, Shaw, _**armies.**_ There is at least one other foreign army loose on the Broken Isles however, this one is smaller and seemingly traveling to Azsuna rather than Val'sharah. "

"Could they be connected?" Gelbin inquired " are they of the same nation?"  
Jaina shook her head "As far as I am aware, no."

"Are they Human?" asked Danath

She hesitated "Some. Others are...something else."

"A different subject for the next meeting" said Tyrande. She turned to Jaina, her look cold "As is the subject of you keeping valuable secrets from the rest of the Alliance, secrets that have resulted in the loss of my people. As for now- "

"Wait," normally Jaina never would have shown such rudeness, but she wouldn't let that last impression stand "I will take fault for not sharing information about the portal immediately, but I would never be so careless as to order the study of a portal without safeguards" Varian coughed, no doubt remembering the Everbloom but Jaina pointedly ignored him as that hadn't been on her orders "I had one of my best and most reliable lead the expedition, I had those trained on dispersing portals on the scene, veterans of past actions on Draenor- both versions of them. I had portals set up so that if they were overwhelmed they could flee to Dalaran immediately, and from there I larger, military expedition could be sent in to annihilate the intruders. I had the leader of this expedition, Archmage Arclock, write daily reports in Kirin Tor code on the status of the expedition and portal. Every precaution I could take, I did. "

"And yet here we are, Jaina" The High King said, gesturing at the war table.

Reluctantly, Jaina had to acknowledge that yes, this was her fault. If she had installed more safeguards, if she had placed Khadgar in charge, if she had-

Malfurion motioned to speak " I know you are not reckless, Lady Proudmoore. But it was irresponsible not to warn us once it was clear your expedition lost control of the situation, once they stopped reporting in.."

"That" Jaina paused, before revealing her most disconcerting piece of intelligence " was four days ago."

There were some shocked murmurs at this as the crowd digested the implications

"Four days?" Tyrande questioned "The invading humans have been here for a least _four weeks_! It is impossible that your agents could not have seen them!"

Jaina's look grew dark " I know. Yet that is what they have been telling me, for the last couple of months. All the proper procedures were followed, all the right detection spells- including those that can sense the fel magic of the Legion- were applied. We even had two visual communications with Arclock present. It was only in the last week that my suspicions grew to send a second, independent strike force who found naught but bones. "

"It appears your archmage has gone rogue, then. Though how he could have formed such a treasonous connection so fast, is another question that needs answering." said Genn.

"Yes, it does appear that way. " Only it didn't, not to Jaina at least. Arclock had always been on the rather conservative side of things, in terms of magical advancement, and had never shown any inclination to pursue the forbidden magics. Moreover, he had refused countless promotions that could well have put him on the Council of Six by now.

Something had been...off about the Archmage as well. In those visual meetings conducted over arcane projectors he had seemed less calm than normal, as if his mind was rife with impatience. All too often he would glance to the sides as if expecting someone else to intrude.

In both personal and visual communication he had been more...inquisitive than before and asked questions that were only periphery to his main expedition. Such as news from the wider Alliance, the mechanics of gateway function, even asking that a book be sent via the magical mail system (having politely declined a courier). It was a subject he should have known, given some of his past research, but the archmage had insisted upon a 'refresher'.

At the time, she had chalked all that up to the excitement over the project, for she had indeed received wondrous reports from the Archmage on the other world's mysterious magic system, which Arclock termed 'the Aethyr".

Now, however, she wondered if she should have been more alert.

"It is a mystery. Perhaps" she raised her voice here a bit "our resident Spymaster can help assist with the investigation, since he seems as knowledgeable as any _Council Member_ on the activities of the Kirin Tor.

That was no mystery to Jaina; if the spymaster's source wasn't a certain white-haired, eccentric Archmage who loved puns and recklessness, then she was a dreadlord in disguise.

With this uncomfortable subject out of the way, the meeting shifted to the situation in Val'sharah, and the Alliance's general response. Of course the Eastern nations of the Alliance- Stormwind, Gnomergan, the various Dwarf clans, those Gilneans that chose to settle in Stormwind lands- would ready their forces in response, however all acknowledged that they would be unlikely to arrive in time for a meaningful action. Even with instant messengers via portals and armies used to rapid mobilization, it would still take time to prepare the ships, gather the men, the required supplies etc. Moreover, the airships were currently undergoing refitting with new ordinance.

That said, specialists could and would be deployed. The High King quickly committed the SI:7 to the war, while the Dwarfs and Gnomes vowed to send their own demolition experts. The Draenei and Gilneans, however, with their power-bases so close to Teldrassil, all agreed to commit portions of their armed forces to the Darnassian relief force. And, of course, Jaina had committed many of her own mages to the cause, almost as many as she had committed on the Isle of Thunder. Between that relief force and the expedition already gathering under Khadgar to assail the army in Azsuna, Kirin Tor operations elsewhere would be left dangerously understaffed however, she recognized the need to make up for her error. It would take some time to pull and re-assign them from their projects, but she assured Tyrande and Malfurion they would be there for when the main Kaldorei force arrived.

The end result would not be a true Alliance expedition, for geography proved a limit even with portals and airships, and the combined army would ultimately lack the steel legions of Stormwind or the technological superiority of the combined West. But it would be close, combining the millennia honed skillcraft of the Kaldorei with the Light mastery of the Draenei, the arcane firepower of the Kirin Tor and the ferocity of the Gilnean Worgen.

* * *

 _Potions and Wards, Spellcraft and Divine Entreaties._

 _None of them worked._

 _None could keep the creature away._

 _Fear? No, contempt! Hate. Loathing._

 _For the Dolgan knew, with utter certainty, that this hireling creature worked for the Maggoth Lord. It was a monster of the mind, seeking to drive Sayl mad with exhaustion and steal away his wits so as to destroy Tamurkhan's greatest rival._

 _Of this he was sure._

 _ **My my,**_ _the hateful voice rang with amusement_ _ **you are an entertaining creature, aren't you**_ _?_ _ **You think I want to drive you mad or to the grave? Why, the former had already been done long before I came into the picture, while if I wanted the latter….well, I certainly wouldn't be here to warn you, now would I?**_

 _Images flashed before his eyes, of shadows that moved by their own, of blades in the dark and-_

 _Sayl paused_

 _In his camp._

* * *

For most of the races of Azeroth (or indeed, beyond) life revolved around the solar cycle - the _day-_ while the night had been a period of rest and relaxation. They rose with the dawn and retired with the dusk. This was inverted with the Kaldorei. Their day began when the moon triumphed over the sun, and began to wind down when the sun retook its place. Hereto the Night Elves had been fighting out of their element, to preserve the knowledge of what their element was until they had gathered enough troops to maximize their advantage.

That time had come.

As so it was that on the night of the seventh day the Kaldorei struck. Dividing themselves into over a dozen different bands composed of sentinels and druids both- each led by a veteran lieutenant of Ashenvale, portalled over by order of Shandris Feathermoon-the Kaldorei crept into the camp a little past midnight, their steps as silent as the forest in winter. Sentries surrounded the camp on every side, for Tamurkhan was an experienced enough commander to suspect that his opponents would eventually attempt a night strike.

However, he had never dealt with Night Elves before. Gifted by their goddess Elune with the ability to meld into the shadows, the elves were practically all but invisible to the northmen at all but the closest ranges under the right light conditions. By then it was usually too late, as the sentries were taken down by precise arrows through the sockets, blades across throats or pollen cast from druids that lulled them into a deep sleep.

And so sentinel saboteurs prowled the enemy camp, deftly avoiding torches and meandering drunken northmen alike. Like the panthers they often rode they took their prey by the unawares, taking down their sleeping foes silently while simultaneously poisoning food stuffs, planting ominous seeds, leaving choking pollen traps and loosening what vehicles the chaos horde possessed. In the outskirts of the Chaos Dwarf camp druids were throwing small bags of seeds down the throats of sleeping giants who swallowed them the way a human might a gnat. Still other sentinels waited in nearby trees, bows at the ready, special arrows ready to be lit at their commander's order.

In some ways, the atmosphere of the chaos camps aided the Kaldorei. Discipline was unenforced, and there were few organized patrols to dodge while many of the men- those up this late- were drunk to the point of bare coherency and even the drunkard that managed to catch sight of a Night Elf was ignored for being, well, a drunkard. Moreover even the discovery of a couple still cooling bodies did not provoke alarm at first as murder was a fairly common occurrence in a camp boiling with violence, hatred and innumerable petty rivalries.

However, the Kaldorei did not yet know the full range of god backed gifts and unnatural blessings the adherents of the Dark Gods possessed and, as a result, began to run into unexpected difficulties. In the camp of Tamurkhan and those of his Nurglite allies, the Sentinels were actually forced to retreat due to the sheer eye-watering nausea and gagging stench that emanated from the camp. The Kaldorei began to feel physically weaker just in the presence of those blighted tents as sickness set in and, though the druids that came with could heal such aliments, they could not do so without being seen. In the future, Sentinels commanders would order these camps burned from afar though for now they were forced to call off the sabotage, the owl's howl signifying a retreat.

Ultimately, it would be the other camps where the well-laid plans of the Sentinels were thwarted by the enemy. In the Dolgan camp the incursion initially proceeded well, and many minor leaders were slain in their sleep. However inexplicably and seemingly without cause Sayl the Faithless himself emerged from his warded tent and, with his magical gaze seeing past the shadowmeld, unleashed potent bursts of magic on nearby intruders.

Simultaneously, those infiltrators in the Dwarf camp began to run into trouble. Though they had dispatched the Hobgoblin sentries easily enough they had run into issues with heavily armed and organized Dwarf patrols out in great numbers, their armor thick enough to prevent easy dispatching. Moreover and unbeknownst to the Kaldorei the eyesight of the Chaos Dwarfs were nearly as attuned to the night as the Kaldorei themselves and it was only a matter of time before the Night Elves were detected.

The gunfire and sorcerous explosions echoed throughout the camp as the Northmen finally came to recognize they were under attack. Thousands of cries of alarm, rage and battle echoed throughout the camps as the Northmen fell upon the intruders in a wrath.

Or, at least, tried to. The Sentinels were not unprepared for such discoveries and, indeed, their tacticians had spent millennia drilling for such a possibility. Those tactics had only been improved with the recent incorporation of their druid kin...

Horns blasted outside the camp as the commanders threw away silence like a swordsman tossing away his scabbard. Enormous Stormcrows the size of a man swooped from the heavens and commanded the winds to extinguish torches and campfires. The shadows Northmen rose from their mats with swords in hand, only to stare apprehensively at the darkness that surrounded them. If they were lucky, they only waved their weapons aimlessly at the enveloping night- the unlucky were taken down by unseen arrows, claws or blades.

As the Sentinels held the attention of the Northmen, the druids unleashed ten thousand year old cantrips and the magic of life on all the carefully sprouted seeds across the camp. Processes that would take weeks or years occurred in seconds and, from those seeds, emerged the wrath of nature itself. Flowers the size of hobgoblins lashed out with poisonous, thorny arms while vines grabbed a hold of screaming men and their equipment alike. Small trees known as treants of varying sizes and shapes emerged from the outskirts of the forest, the claw hands of these treants eviscerating those closest. Traps unleashed mists of pollen, which caused all those who entered to choke and sneeze uncontrollably, some to death.

In the Chaos Dwarf camp, a half dozen of the sleeping giants awoke clutching their throats and chests in agony. For some of them thorny, toxic vines spread up and down the length of the esophagus like they were buildings while others had the points of impossibly grown trees erupt from their lungs. The Hobgoblin attendants tittered and quaked in fear at this sight, knowing that the punishment from their Chaos Dwarf masters would be grim indeed.

Along the edges of the camp the cat riders of the elves rushed into it, the beasts trained rigorously over years to seek out and find their masters. Woe to the Northmen that tried to stop them

Gradually, however, the Kurgan began to muster in force, drowning the traps under a living tide. The lashers were torn apart with their bare hands, the treants were felled through a mix of axe and fire, even some Kaldorei and their panther mounts were caught and slain. Fortunately, most of the Kaldorei had managed to retreat thanks to the delay caused by their traps and the Sentinels themselves had one more card to play...

From the adjacent trees, hundreds of lighted arrows struck down amongst the camps as the Kaldorei returned the gift of fire to the Northmen. The arrows themselves caused little causalities other than a few burns and some burnt tents, however the chaos and panic was enough to allow the remaining Kaldorei to retreat.

* * *

In the morning, Tamurkhan would berate his lieutenants for their slipshod security and their appalling 'failures in battle" while pointing to his own 'success' (by which, he claimed to scare the intruders off- which wasn't a _whole_ lie). Eager to find punishment for last night's raid, the sentries were flayed alive, with dozens of hobgoblin and human skins hung up along the remnants of the province's central road.

However, if the chaos warlords hoped this would be the climax of the Night Elf's raids, they were sadly mistaken. Instead, it would only serve as a herald for what was to come.

The Kaldorei had drawn blood, if only by a prick. Two to three hundred lives had been claimed in a single night at the cost of only a couple dozen of Night Elves- though, out of a force in the high tens of thousands, the causalities Chaos suffered did not even make a dent in their force.

Tamurkhan knew this. Indeed, the deaths themselves did not faze him one bit rather, rather it was the audacity behind the midnight run that caused him to see red. Moreover, even if he was unfamiliar with forest warfare, he possessed enough experience to recognize his enemies' strategy. They were either intending to delay him or disrupt his forces by causing frustrated sub-sections to break off and begin their own chase.

Tamurkhan reflected hatefully that this was exactly what the tribes of the Hobgoblin "Khan" had done in the fel lands above Cathay, only replace forests with plains and cat riders with wolves. Even now, centuries after, the mere memory of that campaign caused his temper to boil, for he had never fought a more cowardly, frustrating opponent. The greenskins had hounded his armies across the breadth of the Eastern Steppes, continually harassing them with the cowardly hit and run strikes their kind was known for while never giving battle. In the end, he had to barter the souls of one tenth of his army to the mysterious one eyed daemons of the Ghost Fels in order to lure the hobgoblins into a trap of mists and, in there, annihilate them.

While he was bereft of daemonic aid here, he had another advantage- he knew exactly what the elves were trying to keep them from. His dragon scouts and spirit walking shamans could see a vast tree in the distance, so large that it seemed to touch the roof the world. His destination was clear. What, then, did a few pricks of knife matter when he was poised to thrust a sword into his enemy's gut?

Tamurkhan ordered the army's pace to be doubled, an edict that was met with much silent groaning but, ultimately, a reluctant acquiescence. However, his foe had anticipated this response and, within a day, Tamurkhan found himself traveling through what was now a swampland, the result of an endless localized storm drenching the area. The road had been ruined days before, dug up and shattered by roots and magic.

That the storms had not been natural occurrences was obvious to the Northmen, for what storm would hover only over a stretches of roads, day in and day out, only to dissipate as the Plague horde got close. Moreover, his scouts reported catching sight of additional rainstorms father ahead.

The mud had slowed his advance to a crawl as even basic foot soldiers cursed and fumbled with every step. Wheeled wagons got stuck at every other turn and, eventually, some frustrated tribes just abandoned them all together, opting to carry the equipment on their backs or else assigned enormously large teams of northmen to essentially carry the entire wagons.

However it was the Chaos Dwarfs with their massive war machines that experienced the most difficulty. Used to the dry wasteland that was the Dark Lands, the swamp was an anathema to their kind as every step sunk a Dwarf up to their groin or chest. In fact, in some places the Dwarfs swam more than walked. However worst of all were the war machines which were almost entirely unmovable in the sludge. Eventually, the Dwarfs forced their enslaved giants- who themselves were struggling in the mud- to haul their devices bodily through the swamp.

At the same time, the Night Elves never let up their attacks. At times it was large scale, as dozens of scantily clad warrior women emerged from the treeline on horse sized panthers or form shifting skinschangers to reap and maul down what they could, before beating a hasty retreat into their forests. Those who were sent in pursuit only rarely managed to catch their quarry; most of the time they emerged grumbling and unhappy. Sometimes they did not come back at all.

Even the little actions took their toll. Often as the Horde traveled one in their number would suddenly fall to the ground with an arrow to the throat or eye. The rest of the nearby host would roar and ready their blades for an attack that would never come, the lone archer fading into the shadows as soon as the first arrow had been launched. Yet even here the inherent strength and toughness of the Northman must be noted, and just as often as an arrow to the eye or neck was one to the chest, which usually just resulted in the wounded roughly pulling the arrow out and cursing the forest.

Perhaps if the Beastmen, the apex predators of the forests, had been present in numbers, the problem would have been lessened. With their enhanced senses and instinctive knowledge of such wooded lands, they could have been in better position to track down some of the elf raiders. Alas of the tens of thousands that had existed only months ago, only a couple thousand were left, More than half had died during Sayl's foolish assault on that Cathayan outpost months ago, while months of conflict had eaten up the rest. This was not the first time the Faithless One's treacherous actions had sabotaged his horde and the Plague Lord vowed his day of reckoning would come soon...

The remnants of the beastkin had proven their worth, and quite a few elf ambushes were spoiled when the beastmen picked up their scent, or else used their keen eyesight to see the faintest of movements in the trees. Still this was elven lands and the Beastmen had been ambushed more often than they had done the same.

The Hounds were another matter. They had proved adept at moving through the trees that were so dangerous for Calvary and, with their noses, had run down many of the hidden elves. They had proven effective enough that the elves seemed to be targeting the beasts exclusively, leading them into stake pits and patches where volatile dwarf sized flowers came alive and raked the dogs with their poisonous thorn arms. In the short run, this meant less harassment on his more important units; in the long run, a decreased capacity to run down the guerillas.

The road was an unfortunate necessity, as the Chaos Dwarfs needed it for their machines. While their giants had no problem tearing down trees the terrain off the road was too variable -hilly at points, littered with streams and plateaus and holes of all sort. It would take too much time- and too much of the rest of the horde's patience- to create a workable path from that.

Still, Tamurkhan recognized the importance of the services of the Dawi Zharr- and the exorbitant cost of said services- and was not about to waste them. After an enemy spellcaster managed to summon up enough roots to crush a waylaid magma cannon, Tamurkhan restructured his marching order, such as it was. From now on the roads were for the great beasts of the Wastes(example: Dolgan Mammoths) and the Chaos Dwarfs alone, a factor that provoked much grumbling among the northmen. The rest would travel off road in vast collections that, it was hoped, would protect the road-bound columns with their bodies.

Logistics was another reason. Men needed to travel wide to loot as much land as possible, for feeding seventy five thousand mouths required a mass swathe of land every day. This wide formation would ensure his troops could harvest the maximum amount of land without splitting off into larger groupings- the latter being an unacceptable risk to Tamurkhan, who had seen the less loyal and more ambitious of his force take the opportunity to leave in those circumstances..

* * *

Jarrod saw to it the never-ending stream of harassment continued. Those Night Elves under his command were divided in two and assigned to either daylight or nighttime operations. He wanted to make the enemy paranoid of every shade and shadow, to have him dread every day and fear every night.

In that regard, he had been succeeding. Sticking to the shadows, using their supernatural abilities and knowledge of the land, the Night Elves had become a terror to the invaders. They would strike at random during the day, firing arrows that zipped by like faint wind before embedding themselves into soft necks. They would strike the stragglers, those who wandered off to look for food, water or just relieve themselves. The corpses found would serve as a warning that the forest was not their domain.

And yet there had emerged complications to his campaign. Though the enemy did not have anywhere close to his flexibility, they nevertheless found small ways to adapt much like a northern mammoth rubbing its hide against a rock formation to crush irritating parasites inside its hair.

Instead of the normal sentries new, metal clad humans patrolled the camps. Scouts had described them as seemingly never sleeping or eating, and had the Kaldorei not seen them bleed, they would have been classified as some sort of automaton, like the golems of their far off Sindorei kin. Those same scouts described them as having a fel air about them and staring at them for a long time could produce an unsettling feeling in the stomach.

The metal humans had proven harder to sneak past and Kaldorei captains had come to treat their vision as if it was good as the Nigh Elves' own. Worse, when the Kaldorei were forced into a fight the humans proved unnervingly skilled with their weapons and could often match- or even surpass- the skill of the Kaldorei with their centuries of training. It took a lot of teamwork, and causalities, to take them down and, though the Night Attacks continued, they never quite reached the success of that first night.

He had given the order to target the most destructive enemy units- their giants, mammoths and strange war machines- and the enemy had adapted. Now the high priority targets among the enemy were flanked on all sides by vast, spread out legions of men, making sneaking up on them conventionally nearly impossible.

Moreover, his tactical options were a bit...limited. The desecration of such verdant groves had infuriated the Kaldorei spirit and only the promise of swift vengeance from the Darnassian forces had convinced them to stay their hands Even so they would not countenance some of his ideas, like selective burning of some of the most verdant zones in front of the horde's march, or the mass poisoning of every pool and stream in their path. In fact, they had responded with such vehemence that, for a dreaded moment, he feared a coup against his rule.

Their refusal stunned him, not least because (from his view) they would be granting those portions of the forest a mercy from the outside's consumption. However his lieutenants- all bar the Moonguard, who looked as flummoxed as he was- shook their heads and pointed out that, while that may be true nothing would be worse than the Kaldorei sinking to their level.

So instead, he had continued his campaigns of harassment and night thrusts, though it was stubborn work. Fewer sections of the enemy army had split off then he hoped, and most of those had only numbered in the few dozens or hundreds. Some had been surrounded and slain, while others headed deeper into the forests to plague whatever they found.

Additionally, though his armies were skilled at dispersal, and under orders to retreat whenever engaged, causalities were inevitable. Hundreds had died and more were maimed enough that considerable druidic or priestesses attention was needed to heal. Still, the recall of retired troops had swelled his ranks to almost 5000*, some of whom had served under him in the War of the Ancients itself. That number might grow further as the final evacuations were finished.

Of course, Night Elves were not alone in swelling to his ranks. The denizens of the forest, those who the Kaldorei had called allies since the first Burning Legion invasion, had joined in great masses, angered immensely by the sacrilege done to their forests. Many of the most hot-tempered or wild had engaged the Northmen when they found them and were cut down in their trouble by the sheer numbers. They were ill-disciplined compared to the Sentinels and Jarrod had to direct some of his cadres to save the creatures.

Still, they added to his forces. The Dyrads were, once trained, and well suited to hit and run style assaults, hurling javelins with the most toxic of poison before galloping through the forests once more. Their rarer brothers were as great as druids as any, while the fey dragons had proved pivotal in arranging a successful ambush of one of the horde's mage casters.

He kept the largest and most powerful of his forest allies- the towering ancients, a handful of mountain giants and viscous Chimera- near the Temple, for the battle that would inevitably come. However, the greatest contribution thus far was hippogrypths. Sentient creatures, hundreds of them had come forward to hunt down the defilers of the forest. They were fast learners and though it was impossible to give them the training needed to truly serve as professional mounts, it would not take long at all to train them to carry archers on their backs.

He held them, too, in reserve, for he did not want to reveal the size of his air force just yet.

* * *

Not even Tamurkhan's iron will could hold every element of the horde together forever. Some small portions had begun breaking off even in Suramar, to despoil and ravage on their own volition. Such was the total size of Tamurkhan's Horde that these deserters were akin to the stray drips in a full bucket.

Many were hunted down and annihilated by the Kaldorei cadres, who took advantage of their isolation to destroy them entirely. Still others were too large for the Kaldorei groupings to easily destroy-not without costing them against Tamurkhan's main force- and instead were marked and then let go relatively un-accosted.

Across the province bands of marauders- usually in the dozens, though a few groupings numbered in the low hundreds- wandered across the province, searching for loot and glory.

There was few of the latter to be found. The Sentinels had been thorough in their evacuation, though, as with any evacuation, a few stubborn individuals stayed behind. Here and there small sieges were waged in the forest, as the followers of Chaos surrounded and battered at the defenses of the Night Elven tree adobes whose inhabitants reigned arrow and vases down upon them.

There was plenty of loot, though little of it valuable to the northmen. Abandoned gowns and knik-knacks were used as fuel for firewood, while the carved idols to the Moon Goddess or Wild Gods were defaced.

Others succeeded in finding foes, of sorts. Around Anorei Ridge a hundred strong warband encountered the Gnarlpine clan of Furbolgs. Believing them to be the legendary Bearmen of Beorn Bearstruck, the marauders actually attempted peaceful contact as they sought to enlist the legend's aid. The Furbolgs, however, smelled the corruption in the air and warned the intruders off, only to attack when the chaos men ignored them. A fierce skirmish echoed across the forest. The scions of chaos won that battle, but were weakened enough to easily be done in by a Kaldorei cadre that fell on them soon after.

Elsewhere a band of beastkin fifty strong fought another small tribe of owlkin, who called upon the magic of Elune to annihilate the invaders. A better fate than the tricksy sprites of one of the branches of the Thistleleaf who, after annoying the marauders of the Broken Eye enough, were captured and cooked alive above great bonfire racks. In another case a hundred strong warband came across the isolated shrine of Ashamane and fought a truly vicious battle there that was only closely won by the followers of the panther wild god, thanks to the sudden arrival of two adventurers from the south.

Still, some chaos men had better fortune than others. The mixed band of the Kelgen Beastherder drove the Tornpaw Furbolgs out of their burrow home, where the wandering pus-sorceror Elephas went one further when he took advantage of the plagues that had been roiling across Val'shara to ingrate himself in the Furbolg Lunaroar tribe, posing as a healer seeking to help the inflicted. The father chieftain saw through this deceit, took one look at Elephas' rotten form and ordered the interloper to be kicked from the tribe however the son, a more progressive thinker, continued to ask for Elephas's advice on how to cure the plague.

These events would ultimately, over time, lead to a split in the Lunaroar tribe, as the son was tricked into accepting Nurgle's gifts by Elephas and amassed a small army of followers, even as his father worked to halt the corruption. The resulting tribal civil war would leave the son dead, the father moribund, Elephas in flight and the Lunaroar Tribe left to rot.

However, these defections eventually drew the ire of Tamurkhan himself, as the plaguelord came to slowly grasp his enemies strategy. He split his nurglites up further, and had them advance in great patrols on the outskirts of the camp during the day and the camp at night with orders to cut down any who were caught trying to desert. Of course this only made the followers of Nurgle the easiest target of the stalking Kaldorei, eventually infuriating Tamurkhan to have his mages actively unleash plague spells on the forest.

There were many reasons why the plaguelord had, in fact, hesitated to deliberately, rather than passively, inflict plague upon the forest up until their point. The forests - their bark and game- had been his force's only real source of food, and to turn the plague upon it would morph both into substances poisonous to any in the Horde not pledged to Nurgle- or, roughly, 45% of his army.

Yet by now the merciless assaults of the Kaldorei had finally pushed the Plaguelord's volatile patience to the breaking point. If those unaligned to Nurgle would suffer, so be it- they could always bow before the Grandfather if they wanted salvation from their ills.

At the plague sorcerors' command, the trees closest to the spellwork rotted instantly, before less potent but no less virulent winds carried the diseases farther still. Trees afflicted by the disease turned a sickly yellow, withered and poisonous sap dripped like mucous to the forest floor. Soon, the disease crossed species barriers onto the animals and began to spread deeper into the forest.

It must be said that the Kaldorei were not unprepared for the plague and, indeed, the Night Elves were by and large naturally healthier than humans, thanks to both lifestyle and biology. With ample druid support they could cure most of those who got afflicted in their ranks with relative ease, though of course some had to be evacuated for the more potent healing of the Priestesses of Elune.

However the forest howled in collective agony, a noise piteous and heart wrenching to the druids who could hear the cry of every tree, foliage and animal. Many druids used their efforts to try to halt the spread of the plague, taking away from direct combat support for the Sentinels. The Sentinels themselves found their cover reduced to moldy ruins, and the foul slime that oozed from the trees all around the horde of Tamurkhan had a way of ruining their ambushes. Either the sisters would begin to gag or it would fall and cling to their hidden forms, for shadowmeld did not make its users 'intangible'.

Successful daytime raids were reduced dramatically, while even those at night struggled to launch successful raids across increasingly deadly terrain. Causalities, which had been relatively moderate thanks to the deliberate stratagems of Jarod, increasingly greatly among the Sentinels as they were forced into pitched fighting while their druids had to expend much of their energies fighting off the onset of the plagues.

That said, more often than not the druids were successful in their endeavors, for the Winds were still weak here.

* * *

 _In a moonlit room, a figure leaned across an oak-wood table that was wider and longer than a sea giant's girth. A board had been set on top that portrayed the entire span of the province of Val'shara._

 _Scattered about the board were carved figurines of blue; most of which were Night Elves mounted on their nightsabers. They appeared as a series of dots dispatched all over the province, but with the majority shadowing a group of red figurines so condensed that it looked like a solid red snake which slithered through the central road of the province._

 _The foreign horde. Of course, the carvers of the figurines had originally created them to resemble a very different Horde, though they worked well enough for Jarod's purposes._

 _The Night Elf glanced at the head of the snake and grimaced- it was near the outskirts of Lorlathil, the capital of this province in all but name. He had known the invaders would reach the town eventually, of course, and had long since ordered its evacuation. However, this was sooner than he had hoped._

 _Moreover, there was some restlessness among the ranks, a belief that the Night Elves should make a stand rather than let the enemy pollute and desecrate grove after grove. Their complaints had become more vocal over the last couple of days, and he knew that they would become louder still after Lorathil fell. Jarod remained resolute, however. If he were to take a stand his army would be crushed like a rabbit beneath the unaware foot of an ancient._

 _From the outskirts of his vision, a human female stepped forward. His gaze was immediately drawn to the eyepatch over her left eye, the long rifle that was drawn across her back and the steel-forged armor draped over her form. She clicked her heels together and saluted smartly_

 _"Stormwind stands with you, Lord Shadowsong. We will make these invaders pay for the atrocities they had committed and erase this disgrace to humanity.."_

 _He nodded_

 _"Thank you, Agent Kearnen. Rest assured I am perfectly aware that these humans are not of your nation. While unfortunately not every Night Elf shares my belief I can promise you they won't cause you any harm."_

 _It was, fortunately, a promise that he was relatively certain he could keep, for he could easily point out the help humanity provided his people over the last decade. Though there was a great deal of skepticism regarding the theory the Alliance humans had put out..._

 _Stormwind and Dalaran had claimed loudly and before their light that there was no hidden evil nation of man like with the Naga. Rather, these were evil humans from another dimension, arriving through unknown means to wreak havoc on their untainted alternate selves._

 _Such an explanation strained all credulity...or it would have had not such a similar thing happened only a few years ago. Only with the orcs._

 _That was something to investigate later. For now a plan was forming in his head, a way to use the SI:7's talents to his advantage._

 _He moved two of his figurines- that of a winged Hippogryph and of a Storm Crow- to Lorathil._

* * *

 **AUTHOR ANALYSIS & JUSTIFICATIONS**

So in reading this I am sure many of you were saying to yourself "WTF dude, Chaos hasn't gotten in many licks" or "you are favoring the Kaldorei too hard". Well I ask before this is reflected in the comment section I ask that you read my research below, and then comment. As I did some research beforehand to justify the overall narrative so far. And in doing so, I split this portion of the campaign into categories

I want to note that **this does not** measure direct tactical comparisons. In other words, I am not looking at, at this time, who would win in a direct pitched battle between the Kaldorei or Chaos. I am strictly looking at strategic concerns for the overall campaign.

 **That is to come.**

* * *

 **A NUMBERS GAME**

Like the category of geography, the advantage in this category seems so obvious from the beginning, however I nevertheless strive to discuss it and how it matters to the campaign. In this section I will specifically avoid talking about logistics and attrition, as that section is to come.

According to the text, when Tamurkhan finally entered the Empire after a long, meandering journey through the Dark Lands, World's Edge Mountains, the Border Lands and yet more mountains, he only had a third of his army left. However, the text then makes it clear that even with such losses, he still had tens of thousands following his banner. This means that he had at least 20-30,000 on a low end when he entered this region, which translates to somewhere between 60-90,000 at his height. That is, of course the minimum number- if Tamurkhan had 50,000 when he entered the Empire, then he would have had 150,000 to start. As Tamurkhan does not seem to have been referred to having "hundreds of thousands" 190,000 is the upper limit of his numbers, however this is still a lot.

For the purpose of this story, I assumed that he came to Azeroth with around 90,000 men and beasts, several thousand Chaos Dwarfs with 3-5x hobgoblins for every dwarf (probably around 4,000, as Dwarf numbers are much lower than a man and Drazhoath only took a portion of his stronghold with him, with almost 16,000 hobgoblin attendants) , around eighty giants, 500 Plague Ogres and a whole bunch of miscellaneous Chaos monsters. So 110,000+. This is a massive army and I left open to conceivably making it larger, though it wouldn't actually affect the campaign even if I made this the maximum 199,999.

I personally think he will have the largest default army of the brothers.

With the Night Elves, it is admittedly less clear how many troops they have. There are a series of well-designed medieval army calculators out there however (see "good sources to read" at the end of this page) however, the problem is, the Night Elves are not medieval. In fact they don't seem to fit perfectly anywhere in human history and I struggled to really guess their military population.

The popular webpage "The Numberless Hordes: Keeping Your Fantasy Armies a Little Less Fantastic" does give a method to calculate army sizes however, it is specifically tailored to a medieval, human army. For example it takes a base population (listed on the site as 4,000,000) and then subtracts them based on too young, too old, not physically capable, exempt skills, outlaws, chronic diseases and other requirements such as town watch. Or women, who didn't serve in medieval armies.

With the Night Elves, all that is subverted as the gift of Nozdormu- immortality- pretty much froze them all in time so that, after a certain age, they stop aging. So other than maybe 1% that is too young (see Kaldorei birthrate, Val'sharah) the entire population falls within hypothetical conscription range and, moreover, elves are commonly troped as being better fit and more agile than humans, so that -10.4% reduction would itself be reduced to almost negligibility. Some would have exempt professions and skills, while criminals in Kaldorei society seem rare and mostly handled by the elite Warden order.

Again, diseases are still a mostly alien concept to the elves.

Oh and about the gender thing it's both inverted and not in play. Though technically only women could serve in the Sentinels up until 15 years ago (and thus the percent of men in the Sentinels will be extremely limited), men were heavily encouraged by both their nature venerating society and the Kaldorei philosophy to join the druids who, as healers and fighters of their own, cannot be counted out of this muster.  
A big limiter is that becoming a Sentinel seems to be a far more extensive, physically exhausting and time-draining deal than becoming a normal soldier. I am thinking of decades of training to become a Sentinel of any rank, along with assignments that have you posted all across Kalimdor and beyond. Thus the Night Elves can be said to emphasize quality over quantity, a trait that likely makes it a bit hard to absorb massive numbers of troops. The same deal for the druids.

Moreover, the Night Elves had had 10,000 years of mostly peace and Val'sharah in particular does not seem to have any real problems until very recently. Kalimdor, however, has and I would imagine at least a portion of the Sentinels of Val'sharah had been sent over to help against, for example, the Horde. I thus came up with a rather low number between 2-3000 and that includes all Sentinels those in the province- town guard, those who guard the Temple etc.

However, as a final plus side, this turnout can easily be boosted in wartime. Any 'retired' Sentinel who served even for a portion of the last 10,000 years can easily be reinstated and while the average citizen might not be as trained as the professionals, they still have had ten millennia to pick up some combat skills, perhaps even some light training from the sentinels themselves who, though they may only allow the Elite in their ranks, would still provide some training to those they protect. This serves their mission and reflects the self-sufficient nature of the Kaldorei society and is something the Horde experienced in Ashenvale.

" _All who could walk were pressed into service. Even those generally regarded as civilians—tailors, food merchants, innkeepers—had learned over centuries how to fight well enough to defend themselves. Those few who could not—mothers with infant children, the wounded—had been portaled to Stormwind when the magi arrived." –Elegy, PG3_

In numbers alone Tamurkhan has a clear edge as he will have overwhelming numerical superiority throughout the campaign. While Jarrod can assuredly double his force a couple times over (and this without the Darnassian reinforcements) he will be playing catchup almost the entire game. The disparity is so great that if Jarrod brought his forces on a field for a pitched battle, he would be swarmed entirely which in turn forces the Kaldorei to rely on guerilla tactics.

However even here the numbers advantage shines as Tamurkhan's force is so large that it would be like a bunch of kids trying to slow down a train by throwing rocks at it. Sure, you might cause some dents, but the train is going keep on rolling by. The best the kids can manage (and all that Jarod hopes to do, until the reinforcements arrive) is slow the invaders down. Thus though the geography knowledge, strategies and supernatural abilities of the Kaldorei make it incredibly unlikely any of their guerilla groups will be caught and wiped out, it is also true that I don't think they will be able to drain the horde of bodies before the northmen come across the world tree or Temple of Elune.

As an asterix, it should be known that while Tamurkhan starts off extremely large, he basically is receiving no reinforcements, for Mallus is a whole planet away. So continuous losses will start to matter, for him.

* * *

 **RECONNAISSANCE**  
In the modern era, advanced nations- and even many not so advanced- have innumerable satellites, spy planes, remote viewing cameras and radios at their disposal, giving them a unparalled bird's eye view of the battlefield. This is in direct contrast to the commanders of the past, who had to rely on willing locals, professional scouts and their own inferences.

It should be another self-evident fact that, in an area where the Night Elves are the locals, that they would start with some early advantages when it comes to scouting. Their troops have trained almost exclusively in forest operations and their traditional scouts have magical advantages in terms of their night specialty and shadowmelding capabilities. I will also note that their SI:7 allies are notably good as well, and in Good War Saurfang claimed they knew more about the Horde army he commanded than he did. And of course both sides have air units to utilize in this manner.

However, this is a fantasy setting and both sides have various magical means to acquire information. Many of the Night Elven methods have been described, but at their most basic Warcraft 3 old lore has the Night Elves maintaining cadres of trained owls that either can report manually on enemy troops or, at most fantastical, actually maintain some sort of primitive telepathic rapport with the creatures. It is clear from some novels and quests that the druids have the ability to talk to flora and fauna, though their perspective is, of course, limited by their nature (for example a tree probably would only be able to describe a Chaos Warrior walking by the weight of their steps above their roots, or the foul air they exude...no physical descriptions other than that).

There are many other possibilities the Night Elves have in their possession. Thanks to the assistance of the Highborne, Mage Guard and the Kirin Tor, they can use portals to instantly pass important messages from place to place. Elune is known to sometimes send visions to her priestesses, while some might be able to scry. The druids can also use the same astral projection of the Warhammer mages, with Malfurion notably using a version in the very beginning of the War of the Ancients.

Of course, Tamurkhan isn't without his options as well. In particular many of the Warhammer magi can scry themselves, their spirits soaring in the air like eagles and capable of covering hundreds of miles in a night. Some, like Sayl the Faithless himself, can scry into the future itself, seeking visions regarding possibilities. Now in this and with the visions of Elune, it should be noted that both universes seem to operate as multiverses*, so no one path to the future is guaranteed to happen however, both sides can use the known past and present recon to try to narrow down whether the vision will occur or not.

* Of course one must note that neither Northman nor Elf know they live in a multiverse, so they might well presume the prophecies to come absolutely true, but that doesn't mean it is necessary guaranteed to.

I think the macro scale recon of the northmen's sorcerers can allow them to detect the largest groups of the Sentinels along with key locations such as the enormous World Tree and the Temple of Elune. However, thanks to the abundant trees providing cover (even if the Elves, who cannot see the projections normally, cannot appreciate this) combined with the elves own low level operations means there is probably going to be little warning of their raids.

By the same reasoning, the rampant micro level recon of the Kaldorei is basically going to give their commanders a knowledge of the enemy horde up to the very minute of detail. The actual command structures of Tamurkhan and Jarrod are likely safe, simply because Tamurkhan's traveling camp is going to be so sickly that any scout sent in there will die or be overcome, while the holy presence of the Temple of Elune would likely incinerate any unprotected Northman spirit that tried to wander in. In addition, both universes have means to counter and eliminate astral forms, so there would need to be caution for any using this means.

I think both sides are going to see some major benefit from their magical means, with the Kaldorei having some slight overall advantage thanks to their abundant micro-means (even if I think WHF visions and astral projection to be a little bit better than their Warcraft equivalents) which compounds with their overwhelming advantage in traditional scouts, local knowledge and stealth specialists. This will improve the efficacy of their assaults in the early stages, as they try to avoid a pitched battle.

* * *

 **COMMANDER**

Jarod Shadowsong is one of those characters who comes across, frankly and with apologies for using this overused term, as a bit of a Marty Sue. Humble, open-minded and tactically brilliant, the flaws of his characterization are not really highlighted in the War of the Ancients novels.

The very instant he took command, he managed to turn around a complete loss against a numerically and magically superior foe with a better air force. Every decision he made was both made with reluctance and, as it turned out, brilliance. Within an hour after seizing command he had neutralized or equalized his foe's magical abilities, drove back their air assaults and effortlessly convinced the scheming nobles to follow him. All reluctantly. Humbly.

Afterwards he devises a way to optimally incorporate both the Kaldorei resistance and their allies- Earthen, Tauren and Furbolgs- into squads together, convincing elves to lay down their thousand year racism and the other races to lay aside their distrust. These squads leveraged their allies physical superiority with their ranged and magical. So impressive was he, that when the demigods of Azeroth came- beings tens of thousands of years old- they all universally declared themselves under Jarod's command. In the final battle Archimonde was tactically outmatched, the demigods followed Jarod in a glorious charge and though Jarod was almost killed by Archimonde, Tyrande and Malfurion won at the well right before.

Honestly, his own weaknesses are his tendency to lead from the front (something Tamurkhan often does too, to be fair), his attempt to pass leadership onto someone else and his historical discomfort to contemporary Kaldorei culture, enough that he went into isolation for nearly 10,000 years because of it. In my story, I had this causing some tension as the attitudes of Jarod towards arcane and Fabian style slash and burn mesh poorly with traditional Kaldorei conservationism and veneration of nature. In some cases his will prevailed (arcane), in others, even areas which would have helped his campaign immensely (poisoning/destroying potential sources of food and water).

If Jarod's claim to fame is the result of easy brilliance, Tamurkhan's is the result of pure tenacity, persistence and willpower. The entire events of his Forgeworld gamebook showcase the Maggot Lord as utterly relentless as he sought to achieve his end goal; become a prince of daemonkind. To that end he would drown all who came before him with vast waves, hesitating to sacrifice nothing, not even one of his many bodies, in a pursuit of victory.

Yet, despite his single-mindedness, he is not a fool. With the end goal in mind he set out to capture giants for their incredible strength, enscroll an ogre tribe and alternate between bullying and bartering one of the mightiest Chaos Dwarf strongholds into submission. Rather than charge through the fortified north, through Kislev, Tamurkhan sought a roundabout way never before used by Chaos through the Mountains of Mourn. This shows that, far from being a wandering force of random destruction, Tamurkhan does take some pains to think of novel solutions and does try to prepare for his conflicts as much as possible.

However, in contrast to Jarod, Chaos camps always sit on a bipolar knife's edge in regards to leadership competence. In one scene the Northmen might be worshipping a leader, willingly sacrificing their lives in great masses to achieve a goal. In another they can fret, plot and even attempt murder, for if the Northmen believe that their leader has fallen out of favor from their fickle gods they will abandon him in the instance. This can come even on the eve of victory, as when Tamurkhan conquered Ptiedorf his army nearly revolted- not because of the victory itself, but because Tamurkhan had believed the city to be Nuln when it wasn't (having evidently not opted to read the road signs). He was made to look like a fool in that instance.

And of course the upper echelons of Chaos leadership are even worse. Everyone not of Nurgle schemes against him (and, possibly, even some of them) with the worst offenders being those unaligned, such as, most notably Sayl the Faithless, who helped bring about his downfall through behind the scenes machinations in canon. The Chaos Dwarfs follow him in letter only and are allies of the worst sort, always demanding extra compensation for any inconvenience or act not in their contract, always sneering and condescending to their allies.

It would be a difficult call, otherwise. Jarod has clear natural brilliance on his side and a far more adaptive mind, however Tamurkhan has vast experience on his side (Jarod spent most of his 10k years in isolation, while Tamurkhan's 7k was spent fighting) and willingness to spend throw vast amounts of troops to their death where Jarod would hesitate. However the fact that Jarod is so loved by his troops and everyone up to a demigod on Azeroth, however unrealistic the circumstances, means that he really only has to face outward, while Tamurkhan constantly has to consider who is at his back as well as the Kaldorei.

* * *

 **LOGISTICS**

" _The line between disorder and order lies in logistics…"  
– Sun Tzu_

 _ **Logistics**_ _, in military science, all the activities of armed-force units in roles supporting combat units, including transport, supply, signal communication, medical aid, and the like – Encyclopedia Britanica_

Ahh Logistics. Arguably the most important yet overlooked part of any army set-up. Neither Warhammer or Warcraft really focus on it since it's so often drab and boring to the game, an endless series of calculations, stockpiling and distribution. It's not something that is considered very fun for players to manage, any more than bureaucracy or proper accounting is considered a fun or glamorous job. Yet who can deny the importance of one who dishes out the paychecks, or arrange for the distribution of food?

Moreover, without good logistics, tactics and strategies matter little. Without logistics, one cannot supply your troops food or water, leaving them to starve before they ever see battle. Without logistics, weapons and armor cannot be forged and distributed, potions and elixirs cannot be stockpiled, and medical stations cannot be setup.

To that end, I am going to split this portion into two sections, material and personnel. That is, the first deals with the movement, maintenance and acquisition of material goods like food, weapons and other vital supplies. The second deals with the movement of troops, healing and reinforcements.

 **MATERIAL LOGISTICS**

 **Night Elves**

Though Warcraft does skimp over such minute details as logistics that does not mean they don't exist. It's just that logistics is so often a humorless, boring series of counting and production, It is shown that they have them, given the NPCs gifted with the titles of "Quartermaster", "Supply Officer" and the various regents, as well as the periodic "protect/acquire/destroy" supply quests in the game. This does suggest that logistics is often put under strain in Warcraft, however the fact that they manage to maneuver material and men across continents and planets does suggest some overlooked and underappreciated ability.

Moreover, the Night Elves have a couple of unique advantages here.

The first is, of course, that they have a home field advantage. Val'shara is their province and they can rely upon supplies from local villages and towns. Because they own the province, they know the best places to hunt and forage. As I think the Night Elves are going to opt for a more dispersed form of warfare, in order to harass the Chaos forces from as many points as possible, the sentinel cadres will be in more manageable sections that will allow them to function mostly bereft of any formal supply line. They are masters of the forest and know which berries they can eat, which are poisonous etc.

Second is magic. As shown by scenes in Stormwind, post-Teldrassil evacuation, they can grow a seed to a full sized pumpkin in moments, which is similar to what is shown in the Knaack novels. What moonguard are present can also assist their own food, if they are so inclined, and can conjure portals to connect them to command- which allows them to receive low-grade reinforcements, supplies and evacuate the wounded too harmed for the druids to heal. It should also be noted that the more powerful druids themselves can form connections to the Emerald Dream and bring in reinforcements from there, as shown by the Huln Highmountain questline, though I would imagine not very many can do this.

Of the various mechanisms that I employed in the chapter, none exist without precedent. In the Knaack novels druids have shown the capacity to turn twigs to spears and I see no reason why they can't grow such things into smaller arrows for the Sentinels to carve and use. While the use of portals to funnel in entire armies is limited, they have never had any problem portaling in individuals or small groups, funneling in some supplies (including, most notably, funneling in supplies to Lunarfall/Frostridge in Draenor) and evacuation (this is how Jaina survived Theramore).

Honestly, I think the Night Elves will do fairly well in handling the problems of material logistics as they have every home field advantage compounded by some significant magical bonuses. I don't think they will want for food or water during this conflict. Even if Tamurkhan deploys his plagues in mass enough to make the forest toxic to be in, the methods of magical food production can be employed, though it would tie up their magic users.

 **CHAOS FORCES**

The chaotic factions in Warhammer are all Horde factions. This means that they travel from one place to another raiding and pillaging, living off the land and usually ruining it completely at their passing. They do not have supply lines or bases to draw from, for when these hordes arise their intent is to plunge as far south as they can manage.

I would like to start with the good news for Chaos in that iron clad walking suits of armor known as Chaos Warriors don't need to eat. Between the knights, the ground warriors and other variants, this may well constitute 1/10-1/8th of the Chaos force having no logistical requirement. So out of my 80,000, perhaps a whole 10,000 have no need for food, water or any form of substance as far as I can tell. The second piece of good news is that the Chaos Dwarfs are here, slave masters and supply masters who can extract every bit of nutrients from a corpse.

That is where the good news ends.

The average human requires roughly 2000 calories per day, though that can vary based on physical activity, weight, and various other factors. Roman Soldiers, for example, needed an excess of 3000 calories per day to function. Bodybuilders will need something between 3500-6000 calories, between 3000-8000 for high intensity sports with some of the very like linemen and intense swimmers needing between 8-10k. The famous Mountain, of Game of Thrones fame, needed 10,000 calories a day to keep his figure. Neanderthals, the ancient human species physically superior to homo sapiens, needed between 4,000-7,000 calories per day.

However, those of the north are frequently shown to be taller, stronger and more active than the more sedentary citizens of the south. Moreover, they are often passively and actively mutated by Chaos and thus their calorie intake should be a great bit higher. After all, that tentacle arm growing from your chest needs energy to function, even if it seems to have some sort of twisted sentience on its own.

Taking all this into account I would postulate that the calories for Chaos men (and beastmen, since though their caloric intake is probably different, it probably isn't by much) to be around 5-7,000, averaging out to be 6,000. Note that there are undoubtedly many monstrous men akin to GOT's Mountain among the Chaos ranks...or larger and more terrifying still.

Chaos Dwarfs are another creature that might actually have similar caloric needs to a Northman. In the novels they appear, while shorter than a man, they are shown to be far stockier, just as if not stronger and miniature mountains of muscle.

However, there are monstrous creatures to consider with the most prominent being the Ogre. Finding the ogre's weight is harder, but I believe based on their size (twice as tall as a man) and description of blubber the Ogre should be comparable to the Polar Bear which can weigh up to a 1000 lbs.

A Polar Bear requires 12,000 Calories a day to survive in the artic- however, this isn't the whole story. Because Polar Bears are mostly sedentary they are bearly using their metabolism to hunt, instead preferring to wait for food to come to them. By contrast the 350 lb. active human linebacker needs to consume almost 9000 calories - 75% of the Polar Bear's Calorie needs at less than 2/5th the weight, along with 4.5x the average human calorie needs (2000)(Source: "How many calories Football Players eat every day compared to polar bears, apes and cheetahs "- Quartz).

The Ogres of the Ogre Kingdom lead an active lifestyle of hunting, brawling, searching wide and far for food, including migrating across the world (we have instances of ogres appearing in every continent). Those of Tamurkhan are described as bloated by Nurgle and may weigh way more than other ogres, along with the fact that the whole race suffers from the curse of the Great Maw, which leaves them perpetually hungry and farnished.

Based on that, the small size of Ogre tribes (Dozens to low hundreds at most) , their exertion and their description as constantly eating I don't think it's unreasonable to give the Plague Ogres something 4-5x the Polar Bear's, meaning between 48,000-60,000 (Note: This is similar to a Grizzly's caloric intake while it prepares for hibernation). If Tamurkhan has five hundred ogres at his disposal (and the Tamurkhan book clarifies he does indeed have 'hundreds") , then they must eat 24-30 million calories per day.

Trolls are described as nearly as furnished as the ogres and, like the ogres , are mutated enough that they must eat extra to maintain their fel powers (regeneration, acid spit etc.). For that reason I think they would match, roughly, the ogres though they could in fact far more and indeed, in the WFRP supplement The Gathering Storm one of them pretty much ate a whole small village in two days though I am going to assume that is an extreme outlier. Lazily, and to Chaos's benefit, I am going to assume they are roughly equivalent to the Ogres high end and thus, if there were 150 of them, then they must also eat 48000 a day at minimum per day or 7,200,000 per day for the whole lot.

Then there are the giants, which canonically numbered almost a hundred in Tamurkhan's force (though I gave them an invasion starting force of around 90, because they would have lost some fighting across the wastes to get to the portal). Fortunately I do not have to do these- I found a wonderful fan site that did the calorie calculation for me, using Kleiber's metabolism formula, giving the giant about a 280,000 calorie requirement. Note that this is probably on the short end, as we are using chaos giants who have mutations and might be bigger. Anyway however that amounts 25,200,000 calories per day for the ninety giants.

In regards to the other monsters I am willing to skip over the mammoths, as they could presumably eat the abundant foliage of these lands(on that note, I am also handwaving horses). An active dragon may well eat 2,300,000 million calories, so five of them are 11,500,000. Though I would imagine a handful of beastmen monstrous or giant creatures- cygors, ghorgons and minotaurs- the beastmen have been mostly depleted by Sayl's foolish assault on a Cathayan citadel in canon and if pressed I would say they are likely roughly equivalent to their giant/ogre equivalents (i.e. minotaur similar to ogre/troll, ghorgon chaos siege giant etc). This is admittedly the result of some laziness on my part, but also a desire to afford some generosity to Chaos.

 **Edible Calories per animal**

- **Elephant:** 6 Million

- **Cow:** 1.1 Million

- **Human:** 81.500 K

- **Red Deer:** 164k

Human/Dwarf caloric requirements =444,000,000 (74kx6000)

-Hobgoblins – 16,000 x 2500=40,000,000

(they seem really stringy and lean compared to humans, so between that and because I don't really want to focus on them, I am going to assume their caloric needs are smaller)

Dragons/Giants: 36,700,0000

Trolls/Ogres: 31,200,000

Total Calories Needed : 551,900,000

Chaos would need to eat 92 Elephants, 501 Cows, or 3,365 deer a day to maintain the recommended food stockpile. This is an incredible logistical challenge that real world armies struggled with in the West until the Enlightenment era, with most medieval and ancient armies only numbering in the thousands or at best low tens of thousands as a result (with some epoch defining exceptions, like the Romans or various Chinese dynasties). As Chaos, barring the Chaos Dwarfs, do not have a supply chain at all, that means almost all of this must be scavenged from the land.

Fortunately for Chaos I have found that this might be doable in the forests of Val'sharah, for tree bark, plants and all sorts of forest detritus are edible…something I would expect some of the beastfolk to be aware of, if not finding it preferable . In theory, they could cut down trees, shave them to get at their nutrients past the skin and have enough bark for everyone. In practice however, this is fraught with its own difficulties, starting with the fact that it slows the army down greatly even as Tamurkhan demands as they must dedicate several hours to the process every night.

Moreover, with new and unfamiliar flora to even the beastkin, the chaos men would only have a general idea of what it nutritious, what is poisonous, what causes stomach aches etc. Preparation is another key problem and I would imagine you would have to prepare bark very carefully or else you will get a mouthful or throatful of splinters. Some beasts, like the giants or dragons, are carnivorous and cannot be satiated by such foods, though at least the latter can fly to feeding grounds. In addition, the more carnivorous northerners will probably come to hate this diet, and will seek to acquire meat however they can.

The lack of discipline so trademark of Chaos armies will likely harm any meaningful attempt to distribute food to the average warrior….mainly because the Chaos leaders simply do not care. There will be no centralized distribution of resources akin to how modern armies divvy up rations to ensure the soldiers get enough to eat. The strong will find a means to acquire their caloric needs (i.e. food) while the weak will starve or become food themselves. I would expect fights over any meaningful game acquired, of scores of deaths to get a decent (meaty) meal or even murders, once things have become desperate enough, over cannibalism.

However, food is only one logistical concern – there is also the distribution of medicines, water and material weapons and armor. Chaos I don't think truly cares about the first (see below) while I would presume water could be found with somewhat abundance in the verdant forests of Val'sharah, as well as frequent rains, though if either prove lacking there have been accounts of horsemen in WHF drinking their steeds own blood…though in a way they generally don't bleed out. I presume Chaos would be willing to partake in such measures as well, if truly desperate.

The Chaos Dwarfs will, assuredly, handle the construction and repair of materials. While it must be said that they sell only the low quality stuff to the scions of Chaos, and extract hefty price or promises while doing so, their craftsmanship still exceeds any human blacksmith in Mallus. Moreover, as a primarily melee centered force, the Chaos Dwarfs will not need to construct many projectiles barring their own for the course of this campaign. .

Also as my editor pointed out this analysis does not count malnutrition, which is going to be rampant here (and, to be fair, is probably rampant already);

 **PERSONEL LOGISTICS**

If materials are supplies needed to provide for the soldiers in combat, then this section deals with the direct management of the personnel themselves. How an army takes care of their soldiers, how they receive reinforcements, how they move them etc. I will also talk about attrition.

 **THE KALDOREI**

The way I envision the Kaldorei maneuvering troops at this stage is a series of self-contained cadres operating within the directives of overall command but, nevertheless, having a great deal of autonomy and maneuverability. I think speed and mobility will be both emphasized by Jarod and the Sentinel sub-commanders actually in charge of these groupings, as that is the methodology and philosophy that their philosophy is going to emphasize.

Combined with this, are various magical eccentricities that allow for unprecedented mobility. As mentioned in the story, portals excel at maneuvering individuals and small groups, allowing for light reinforcement or the evacuation of the grievously wounded. Operatives in one of these Sentinel cadres can report to HQ in minutes after an event occurred, so long as both sides have access to a portal mage. While there are limits to portalling, to be discussed in a future fic, in this battle I don't think they would matter, as I see the Kaldorei only using it sparingly and entirely dependent on the rare mageguard and highborne sorcerors. Which, in and of itself is a limit, though I see Jarod divvying them up between Sentinel groups, as he did with Tauren and Kaldorei during the War of the Ancients.

Magical healing, so rampant in Warcraft, has the chance to rather revolutionize warfare. Historically, most causalities from armies came from disease, infection from wounds and travel related fatalities rather than actual in combat death. For example in the American Civil War Union Causalities were

110,100 Union soldiers died in battle: 67,088 KIA, 43,012 MW (Mortally Wounded)  
224,580 died of disease.  
Sub-Total: Combat & Diseases: 334,680  
 **Union wounded: :** 281,881 + 43,012 MW = 324,893. 15% of those wounded die.

I will note here that some also died from other causes, like accident or POW conditions, but I am skipping them as I have little idea how WOW healing will affect those or not.

I will also note that diseases and infections still existed in the Medieval Day and though such conflicts aren't as well recorded, you would probably see causalities like this back then.

Now let's look at how advances in technology- treatment technology- have reduced this. According to "Causalities- Encyclopedia" diseases have steadily fallen in lethality since the Civil War, cumulating into claiming only 0.6 out of a 1000 in World War 2. In the modern day illnesses only claim a couple hundred deaths per year out of a total armed forces of 1.3 million (around 0.02%...according to "American War and Military Operations: Lists & Statistics" ). Though there is still some way for treatment to go, modern medicine has almost reduced death rates to negligibility.

The same is true of the mortally wounded, which is a statistic that refers to those who manage to make it to the operating table but nevertheless die. According to the lists I just published and some other sites contending those views, somewhere between 12-15% of Unionists died in this fashion. Now let's skip ahead and turn to my next source, the "American War and Military Operations: Lists & Statistics" which is an official congressional research report on the subject. According to that source 2,460 of the 105,744 wounded died in the Korean War(2.3%), 5,299 of 158,602 (3.34%) followed by Operation Enduring Freedom at 472 of 20,566 (2.29%). And, according to the "Causalities" source, eighty percent of the wounded nowadays return to duty.

Moreover, because Warcraft healers are often encountered on the battlefield, this means some of that KIA will continue to live thanks to healing and protection spells. Having numerous healers- druids and the priestesses of Elune- available means that those Kaldorei injured will be given a level of care that **either equal or exceeds anything** we could do today. From my readings I have seen healers heal burn wounds, stab wounds, disease, scars and more. Though there will likely be some limit- healers cannot grow back amputated limbs unless you are a troll and it is possible to still bleed out in Warcraft- I would nevertheless imagine all causalities from combat wounds and related blood loss to be greatly reduced, with that from infection nearly non-existent.

For a thought experiment let's plug those same percentages back into the Civil War numbers with modern numbers, which Warcraft may well exceed, along with a reduced 1/3rd KIA numbers thanks to healers actively present.

50,0778 Union soldiers died in battle: 44278 KIA, 6500 (Mortally Wounded)  
250 died of disease.  
Sub-Total: Combat & Diseases: 51,028  
 **Union wounded: :** 324,893 Wounded. If we use the lowest modern percentage point 2% of them die. So 6.500

Now I do want to acknowledge the weaknesses. Healers, even those on the battlefield cannot save every soldier such as those that get their heads chopped off, sword through the heart and, if they are not fast enough, vital arteries cut. Hell, there will be some on the battlefield that the healers could theoretically save but won't be able to in the chaos of the battlefield. I would also presume that healers would fast become targets themselves, once their enemy perceives the importance of these individuals.

However even with all that I fully believe the abundance of magical healing and sources is going to drastically lower the causality rate for these armies, well below what any contemporary force could lower it too.

Lastly, I must talk about reinforcements and army growth. As I alluded to earlier, though the Sentinels start out small, they can grow rather fast thanks to their races previously immortal lifespan, which gives them a fair amount of either fully trained retirees that can easily be reinstated into service, or individuals with at least a basic experience acquired over hundreds of years.

I also haven't forgotten about the rest of the Alliance as well. While portalling in armies is beyond their capabilities, portalling in individuals is not and thus while the Eastern Alliance is too far away to lend troops, they can send in specialists, like the SI:7 and, of course, champions. With them come some more explosive and devastating sabotage options.

 **CHAOS FORCES**

Chaos is inexorable but slow. Their armies may cover horizon to horizon, their masses may be comprised of superhuman warriors, but their army movement is so often slow and inefficient. Such is the result of both their disorderly nature, but also likely a fact directly related to their poor logistics. Without supply lines, Chaos must rely entirely on foraging and hunting and looting. While some of this might be done on the march, it is unlikely to be enough given Tamurkhan's insistent movement demands. Thus, several hours must be spent afterwards hunting and foraging.

It is likely the servants of Chaos get far less than 8 hours of sleep, but since when has Chaos cared about that?

Like Warcraft, Chaos does have some cheat codes in regarding to diseases and infection.

One 'advantage' the Chaos forces have is that they are hardy individuals who seem to be a bit canonically stronger than normal humans at shrugging off illnesses and injuries. Moreover, even if they do catch a fatal illness or suffer a mortal infection the unique nature of a Nurgle led force- whose blessings keep his followers alive even after they have caught the most ghastly afflictions- means that they can, in theory, appeal to him for their continued survival.

Now, in practice, many will not do that, as accepting Nurgle's blessings means giving ownership of your soul to him, which is a commitment that would make many blanch and I think many northmen would opt to try to 'tough it out' or even choose death over eternal damnation. Still, a significant percentage will assuredly say yes, while obviously those already claimed to Nurgle have virtually nothing to worry about from disease and, though they can very well die from wounds, probably aren't going to suffer from sepsis or infection.

This is significant because, historically, more soldiers died from surgery, infection, and disease than actual in combat deaths. So even if many die from intra-Chaos violence the numbers of those who die from disease or infected wounds- at least among a Nurglite force- should be rather low and mostly limited to those who do not have Nurgle as a patron.

Chaos corrupts, of that it can be sure. Yet it is also true that Chaos corrupts, rots and decays over time, with Chaos cults slowly but surely coming into being. Chaos corruption has been so memed out that it is often portrayed as an instant threat, rather than something that takes years to take hold. And in some societies it never does, such as the Western Dwarfs and Lizards. As to be revealed in a future section, I have about ten criteria to determine the corruptibility of a society or individual, and right now the Kaldorei score low on them.

In regards specific to Nurgle it has been claimed that since the Kaldorei love life, they would be immediately intoned to his desires. From what I have found, that couldn't be farther from the case. The Kaldorei love nature yes, but they love balance almost as much. There are many quests given by the Night Elves that require you to wipe out the corrupted or even non-corrupted predators because they threaten the whole ecosystem. Nurgle is the definition of unbalance and would be looked on as such.

That said, corruption can and will still cause issues for the Kaldorei in terms of attrition. Depending on how much Tamurkhan wants to invest in spreading diseases(see Strategy), they can be presented with severe difficulties from hostile plants or animals along with constantly taxing druids and priests to keep them from getting sick. Moreover, even if the corruption does not corrupt the Kaldorei, it is shown time and again that even the most minute amount of corruption can easily drive the Furbolgs and Owlbeasts mad, to the point where their corruptibility has also become almost a meme. They probably wouldn't join Chaos, since they don't usually join the Legion or Old Gods who corrupt them, but instead start attacking everything not themselves (Kaldorei, Chaos men, uncorrupted Furbolgs) indiscriminately.

 **OVERALL**

Better authors than I have covered logistics and the problems that arise. Better commanders than Tamurkhan or Jarrod have suffered for it.

For example, in Naomi Novak's Temeraire series, a setting where everyone commands air fleets of dragons, Napoleon is able to use his massive air fleet to successfully cowl the British navy and invade the island, conquering all the way up to Scotland. However the titular character, Temeraire, his captain William Laurence and other Brits fight a successful guerilla warfare campaign that that destroys Napoleon's ability to provide the food needed of his hundreds of dragons, each of whom can eat a cow (or two!) a day. He is eventually forced to withdraw half of them, allowing the British under the Duke of Wellington to gather their own dragons for a massive battle that ends in a British victory.

Of course Napoleon provides us another example, in real life history, where his massive, 600,000 army invades Russia and eventually suffers a retreat that sees most of his army decimated through winter and cut supply lines.

Now I understand that, for Warhammer and Warcraft both, one does not showcase or focus on logistics in any real fashion. I can understand that and I consider myself rather reasonable on the subject; as long as a given faction can provide clues to how they might maintain their supply and troops, I am happy to draw inferences from it.

Unfortunately, of the two, only the Kaldorei do that in any satisfactory manner. Everyone from the loose, dispersed type of warfare that seems common on Azeroth (more on that in a future section), to certain magical abilities and demonstrations show that the Kaldorei should have dramatically less logistical problems than their opponents. With Chaos, other than the actual iron-clad Warriors of Chaos, all of them need food and water and materials etc. And without a supply line- or even a base that the supply line connects too- they have no way to draw in resources from their homeland and must rely entirely on what is looted. Which probably is going to be lacking when it comes to taking care of their incredible needs. While the Chaos Dwarfs do help, not even they have the means to maintain a supply line in this strange land.

For that reason I think the Kaldorei have a substantial advantage in this subject.

 **FINAL NOTES ON THE STORY & STRATEGY**

The reason Tamurkhan is not doing so hot, at the moment, is the fact that most of his army is ill-suited to this kind of endless guerrilla, forest conflict and the fact that his opponents excel in it and are using every dirty little trick to bleed their foes. At any given moment a shower of arrows might emerge from the trees, a poisonous flower might erupt on the path, or even a strange herd of oddly intelligent animals may emerge from the trees, take a few swipes, and then run the hell away.

I am sure the Chaos men try to follow and run down their foes- in fact I am certain of it. However, not only are elves generally potrayed as somewhat faster than humans (in both fictions) and more agile, but each and every Night Elf knows that cheap shadowmeld ability, meaning they can- at the very least- blend into the shadows of trees during the day and almost anywhere at night. While this doesn't actually make them invisible, it does make them hard to see except at close ranges, particularly for those races without night vision (i.e. humans). Thus even if a Night Elf was on the verge of being cornered she still has the potential to lose her pursuers and escape. Add to that the likelihood that the Kaldorei might set up ambushes for their pursuers and the doctrine I foresee Jarod instituting which will emphasize mobility above most else.

The Kaldorei have absolutely no reason to engage Tamurkhan in a pitched battle. As the Chaos Horde moves slow (both in actual canon and slowed further here by druidic efforts) they have plenty of time to evacuate and it is only at the Temple of Elune will Chaos encounter a place sacred enough to the Kaldorei that they will fight rather than flee over. Oh I am sure no one particularly likes Jarod's Fabian style tactics- just as no one like the actual Fabius's tactics- but between the residual caution of the older generation that remembers the War of the Ancients (namely, the sacrifices required to fight a monstrous force) and Jarod's superstar fame I don't think these complaints would reach a tipping point. Now, if Jarod argued to abandon the most sacred temple of Elune yes, but he would not do so, for Elune was as sacred to his generation as any other.

What about Calvary? Well Calvary of the horse variety has historically encountered many issues in the dense forest, for the horses that Chaos typically uses are plains creatures- excellent for running fast across a featureless landscape. In the forest, such strides must be wary of every animal hole, uneven ground and tree limb. Oh and since the druids are here the roots are now going to be reaching up trying to trip the horse. A horse being tripped up while running fifteen miles per hour is almost certainly going to break its leg and fling its rider off in a bonecrushing heap. After that, the only thing the horse is good for is for eating.

Hobgoblin Wolf Riders and chaos warhounds are almost certainly better suited, for wolves are an animal that do well in forests and can probably keep up evenly with the cats (which do tire, though the Knaack novels seem to indicate they have higher endurance than real world cats). The problem is for the former that Hobgoblins are only a tiny portion of this horde and of those most of them are not wolf-riders. I definitely think - and have mentioned- that both the wolves and hounds will cause some problems however I think that will be recognized by the Kaldorei who will spend much of their energies trying to negate this unit as much as possible.

The Beastmen are another force that could provide a great advantage to the chaos forces, for Beastmen are a force naturally inclined to forest and ambushing. They can also run as fast or faster than elves on foot (if my memory of the rulebooks is correct) .While I don't think they can beat the Kaldorei on their own terrain they would help screen and protect the force, allowing for lesser causalities.

The problem here is some asshole named Sayl the Faithless, who got the majority of the brayherds killed in a (canon) assault on a Cathayan Fortress done almost purely for his own curiosity. The months since have only added to the beastman's sorrow and I don't think the numbers of the Beastmen are enough to decisive or even very noteworthy.

Political realities spoil the other options one can immediately think of. While a Nurglite would certainly like to spread diseases via magical means to the forest, doing so would arguably do as more damage to Tamurkhan's Horde than the Kaldorei, who at least have some factors providing a resistance (elves usually portrayed with a superior constitution, druidic/priestess healing, the lack of Winds of Magic reducing magical potency etc). By spreading diseases to the trees, by infecting them with the essence of Nurgle, the Nurglites are essentially poisoning their own food supply...

Which, to be fair, doesn't really matter to them and I would presume Nurgle's blessings would be enough to protect them if and when they ate tainted food. But that protection wouldn't extend to their non-Nurglite allies, who would be very unhappy with both their only sustenance being poisoned and the seeming expectations to convert to Nurgle by Tamurkhan. Best case, they travel farther afield to find edible food- worst case, they turn against Tamurkhan. Still, I do have Tamurkhan getting pissed enough to eventually order it.

Those same considerations prevent Tamurkhan from simply splitting his army into portions as he simply cannot trust any of his lieutenants, and certainly not any lieutenant of note. They would at best pursue their own objectives to the detriment of Tamurkhan, like with Sayl sacrificing a large number of Beastmen to see how the Cathayans fought. At worst, they would desert as what happened often, canonically, in the Border Lands.

Instead what I think Tamurkhan should do and is doing is keep on marching on. I mean he is smart and experienced enough, from millennia of fighting and commandi9ng on the steppes, to recognize guerilla-style tactics and likely can draw inferences between these tactics and the tree that appears in his vision; namely, that the Kaldorei desperately want to protect it just as his dreams are telling him to acquire it for Nurgle. So if he keeps marching towards the target, shaking off the mosquito bites (the Kaldorei raids are bleeding him at this time, but such is his numbers and innate durability of his troops he is absorbing it) he will eventually come to a point where his opponents have to either give a pitched battle (which Tamurkhan is betting he would win) or cede their sacred point.

In conclusion, I will reiterate that I am not a military expert or such, just someone taking every opportunity to learn it to improve his fic. And what my studies- both of real world and other fantasy novels- tell me is that A. the Kaldorei will favor unconventional tactics at this juncture B. They have no reason to switch to conventional yet and C. Tamurkhan is limited in his means to stop them, given the problems of his options (such as plague unleashing) and thus is opting to the best of his ability shrug off these strikes and focus on the objective. Jarod, meanwhile, is going to opt for tactics that delay, distract and bleed- all of which he is doing of various degrees of success.

* * *

 **AUTHOR RESPONSE**

First thank you all for the reviews, they are all appreciated.

 **WORM1** Indeed. In the End Times the Skaven even boosted that rate further with warpstone infusions. + 1 Option 1 (from PM)

 **DASGUN** o_o

 **FENRIR44** +1 Option 2

 **Iadum** Lol I appreciate that, I shall have to set up a DnD game again one of these days. I intend to keep up this trend and you should see quite a bit more in the upcoming codex.

+1 Option 1

 **Dios**  
Shamans do carry some of the spirit of life inside of them per the novels, so I amend my previous statement to say its likely they can do *something* however their greatest feats of power come from commanding the outside elements...elements who, on Mallus, are anti-social at best and actively malovelent and chaos twisted at worse. I.E. A shaman tries to bargain with the nymphs of the Araby, its likely that the shaman is asked either to conduct sacrifices to it, is refused altogether, or is attacked and forced to go the Dark Shaman route.  
As far as I am aware, the Shaman do not carry elemental spirits around with them like they were Aleran Furycrafters, though I might have to double check the text on this. That said, those rare Ascendants (basically individuals who turn themselves in elemental-mortal hybrids) clearly do and they might be able to function with minimum impairments on Azeroth.

I presume by 'vacuum' you mean 'void' in which case stay tuned!

The Ancients are being gathered and will appear soon! They are just not being used at the moment, being ill-suited for the mobile warfare Jarod is favoring at the moment. As for what would happen if they stepped foot on the Old World...well hmm, I would imagine they would count as powerful druids and still be able to use their connection to the Emerald Dream. As for how they would react that is something I intend to explore one day with the Wood Elves.

\+ 1 Option 1

 **Madfrog**  
Thank you! And yes it is, particularly one with all the eccentricities of WOW. Just wait till you see how I handle the Gnomish AI!

\+ 1 for Option 1

 **Carre**  
1\. See this chapter. Never let it be said I don't listen to audience requests (sometimes!).

2\. It was. Expect to see a few 'elite regiments' but, for the most part, the Azerothian versions of Dogs of War will be the legendary adventurers

-B. I'll check that out.

-C. Your not! And the Lahmians will certainly try to do the same to Azerothian human societies, likely with some successs at times but many unique hardships to face.  
I am marking that down to explore this later.

3\. +1 Option 2

B. WOW thank you for all those book tips! Discworld was already there but the rest are many which I have never heard of before.

 **Nikhail Ramathan**

Thank you however I cannot claim credit for the Orca idea. That actually comes from the Pre-patch Darkshore event where the Druids of the Finn assault the seas in both sea lion and orca form.

With Argus it is noted (and indeed, a major plot point) that the planet isn't actually dead, like most of the worlds the Burning Legion touched, as Argus is a fuel source for their resurrection. There is lore precedent for the arcane coexisting, at least for a time, with something that should destroy it- see the invasion of Dimensius, where void and arcane both coexisted to violate the Ethereal's homeworld.

That said I think it is important to distinguish between external and internal sources of magic.

Internal sources come from within. Self-explanitory, like a monk's chi, the natural magic that already resides in a druid's body(which allows them to shape-shift) and creatures that have been infused with arcane/fel/shadow/light etc. The monk is the purest example, drawing from his own spiritual energy, and as long as his body or spirit are operable I don't think he will run into problems.

External sources are where the mage (or any magical user) serves as the conduit and control for energies from another realm, plane or entity. The Light, Void, Shamanism, elements of the arcane and druidism etc all draw from the sources of the universe or from alternate realities, with the Warhammer's Wind of Magic system operating on similar lines. By commanding more power than simply what lays in their bodies they can command strikes more powerful and diverse than what is purely internal.

Technically most of those who call upon external sources probably are involve significant aspects of a internal system as well, as some of what they command (arcane, fel, void, WOM) is either present to a degree within their own bodies or magical equipment. The extent to which mana is a internal factor and external is still a bit unclear, but I would wager its mostly external given that Aspect of Magic's Malygos's whole plan was to drain the world of all ambient arcane sources to stop mortal magic users. Or you can be a warlock and simply drain your enemies of life to empower your spells.

I will probably revisit this subject at a later date though I appreciate your thoughts, they give me new points to consider.

 **Guest May 19**  
+1 Option 1  
 **Dullahana1994**  
+1 Option 1

 **Hakuryuu**

-Night Elf Storylines emphasize balance in nature and contain many quests where the Night Elf Questgiver- sometimes even druid- commands you to kill X amount of a given animal. Sometimes it is because they are corrupted or at risk and you need to grant a mercy kill but other times it is because there is too many of a given animal, they are destabalizing the land etc. The Night Elves care very much about balance, while Nurgle empathetically does not.

-Alas for Nurgle Jarod has been evacuating those places as soon as he realized that Tamurkhan is coming.

-I'd love to hear any thoughts you have regarding geography, mortality and the like.

-After some theorycrafting, I have thought of a new sub-plot line that relates to Nurgle, Tamurkhan and even the Nightmare. You may see the daemon...but then again you might not.

-Xavius may. be used by a certain Lord of Change, or he may be used by another Chaos God. or Both. Or He might use them. Or everyone might be used as pawns in various interlocking schemes.

-Certainly. I like seeing Chaos Cults as a slow, insidious threat that grows like cancer over time. What I don't like to see (and disagree with strongly) is that everyone just jumps on the Chaos bandwagon immediately upon the entrance to the setting. No, that does not happen even in Warhammer. From the outside Chaos repels nearly everybody in a society not of its thrall and its only through corruption subtle and slow that that generally changes. Liber Chaotica (an excellent source book on Chaos makes it clear) that Chaos is always a hidden danger in these societies, and that the corruption almost alwys begins as subtle. Hell, I think the book once mentioned that the majority of Chaos cultists actually don't even know they are in Chaos Cults, as the upper leadership hides the secret

As for whether Chaos cults would be as successful in Warcraft in Warhammer is another question. Rest assured that when I give my full viewpoint,on my question it will be as long and detailed as the analysis I gave above before the review responses.

-I have my own power teir somewhere but its generally only legends like Jaina and Khadgar- far ahead of their peers- that qualify as slightly below Teclis or lesser slann level. Its possible, based on what we have been shown in Rise of Azshara, that Azshara herself might be above Teclis but I can't defend that viewpoint yet without beating that patch.

-Those characters you mention will appear, though some might be limited in writing content. I have plans for almost all of them and ill note the Gotrek and Felix novels remain one of my favorite overall arcs.

-Thank you for the suggestions, though I already read all the Warhammer/Warcraft books before starting this Fic!

+1 Option 1

 **Reed**  
Thank you and +1 Option 1.

 **Lichtbringer**

In regards to Azerothian players in Mallus- Certainly, I just wish I could write faster to get to them!

Regarding Beastmen- oh yes, I have big plans for the Beasts of the East. I have also written a nearly complete codex of the Beasts of the South for the next brother.

I am trying not to burn out. Reading new book series does help, along with real life stuff. Still I think my record is good at the moment as I am now on my second year of writing and have no plans to abandon it. I can certainly help credit all my excellent reviews as motivation.

 **Tobi14**

Thank you but the Kaldorei probably aren't too keen on joining those who defiled their forest at the moment :P

Also I think Option 1 passes now by a fair margin. Very well, I shall finish Tamurkhan up before moving onto his brothers

* * *

Finally, the next section has already been written and will be out in two weeks. Expect aerial combat, Chaos Dwarf grudges and more as Tamurkhan nears the Temple.


	12. Raid on Lorathil

AN: I met my province, though barely. See Author response for the reason why.

Also my next updates will likely be the Kaldorei codex and/or Twin Legions. The Kaldorei Codex will be posted here and, so far, I have finished the rough outline of the lore and many units.

* * *

It was in the midst of the third week that Tamurkhan finally came across the town of Lorathil., the unofficial capital of Val'sharah.

It had long since been evacuated, for Jarod knew that even in his most optimistic projections the Darnassus reinforcements would arrive by then. The most valuable goods had been emptied from the town, as had food and water that might be appropriated by the horde of Tamurkhan. The buildings that remained were as empty and silent as the dead woods themselves.

Wary of trickery, the men of Chaos looked at the town with skepticism, viewing it as another opportunity for a trap. With the trademark diligence and thoroughness, not to mention paranoia, of their race, the Chaos Dwarfs combed through the settlement they would inspect a slave, looking for impurities. They noted contemptuously how the designs of the elves seemed to mold into nature- indeed, many of the homes were actually alive, formed in the willing cooperation with the trees themselves. Harmoniously designed, these dwellings were created to provide minimum discomfort to the tree, while the Night Elves themselves brought, through their worship of the moon goddess, nurturing lunar light. The trees here lived far longer than those elsewhere, with many having coexisted since the War of the Ancients ten thousand years ago.

None of that affected the designs to the Chaos Dwarfs, who held wood only in contempt. Compared to sturdy stone and iron wood was a soft, fickle material, prone to rotting and being eaten by insects. Lumber obstentially presented itself as sturdy, but under just a little pressure it would break apart like the elves themselves when under the slightest pressure, especially when compared to stone. Still, a resource was a resource and even as the Dawi Zharr eyed the lumber disdainfully they were nevertheless appraising its worth in numerical value.

So it was that the Dwarfs set their servants - the hobgoblins, giants and what unfortunate men had fallen under their supervision- to clearing the lumber with efficiency that had come from a month's worth of wooded campaigning. Trees older than the Dawi Zharr civilization itself were hewed down without care to their age or wisdom or sentience.

They cleared nearly every tree in the town, save a few the Nurgle sorcerers wanted to use as a source of some scrying ritual. Then they moved forward, hurling down trees hundreds of yards in all directions from the town. The Chaos Dwarfs recognized the town of some importance to the forest elves, given its size and position on the major road, and vowed to turn it into a Chaos Dwarf fortress, a symbol of the triumph of the Zharr over this strange domain. Even after the Dwarfs left the forest it would mark the landscape like a scar across an otherwise unblemished knee.

Yet, sadism and a desire to wound their foes were not the only Dwarf motivations. Pragmatism was as well, for alone among the followers of Tamurkhan (or indeed, any chaos force present on Azeroth at this point) the Dawi Zharr believed in such alien concepts as 'supply lines' and 'routes to retreat' . They had constructed such miniature forts before and though Tamurkhan roared and cursed at these artifices, seeing it as an attempt by Drazhoath to cheat the Chaos lord out of the troops that he was promised, Drazhoath had not budged, and now a string of four small forts lined the path to the island portal.

Within a day, the fort was arrayed with a palisade of walls, with hastily constructed towers lining the edges looking over a several hundred meter clearing to prevent the night elves from performing an ambush. It was called the Defiled Tower, and it would be a harbinger to this province's fate, were the Dawi Zharr to succeed.

* * *

High in the sky birds circled around like vultures hovering over the dead. However no scavengers were they, rather predators of a certain sort, ones who looked on with hatred at the desecration below and eagerly vowed their vengeance.

Above them all hovered an immense stormcrow, his wingspan twice the size of a horse. Golden eyes peered down as a commander made calculations in his head. Key features of the enemy base camp were noted, key personnel- sorcerers and lieutenant- were marked by their outrageous attire and grand dwellings.

If the bird could, it would have sneered at the enemy. He had come to know many dwarfs in his travels across the Alliance. They were, by and large, a noble, hardworking people capable of working grand craftsmanship and grander stone artifices. They- or at least the dominant Ironforge clan- were as different night and day to the Night Elves, with their love of industry, beer and the underground. Yet they were loyal allies who had stood with the Kaldorei across continents and worlds, while their Wildhammer cousins shared a kinship and love of nature with the elves. Even the Dark Iron Dwarfs, superficially similar to the creatures below, had fought alongside the elves nobly, against Hordes of both the Azeroth and time twisted Draenor variety.

The Dwarfs below were nothing like their kin of the Alliance. They were wretched, ill-looking creatures with thin mockery of quilboar like tusks, serviced by gangly green creatures that resembled some sort of twisted cross between orcs and goblins. They were as repulsive in manner as they were in form and many were the occasions where sentinel scouts had seen them set upon themselves like fel-maddened beasts. The dwarfs themselves were worse, taking some sort of twisted delight in the suffering of all creatures, whether that by the green creatures, the men that were their alleged allies or, even on one occasion, a bonfire hosted in which one of their own kind was hoisted screaming into the flames.

They were savages in deed and form, and moreover ignorant ones at that. Even the ones who found the buried mounds of seeds buried throughout the compound had treated them with disdain rather than alarm. Some had even taken to using the mounds as some sort of crude latrine, as though such a barbaric gesture would kill the life inside the seeds.

Satisfied and looking forward to showing the invader's nature's wrath, Broll Bearmantle and his cohorts withdrew to prepare for the night's activities.

* * *

The men of the Empire would call this the witching hour, for it was a time where the night was at its deepest, the fel moon at its brightest and where the cultist daemon-worshippers would often attempt their vilest rituals to draw forth the attention of dark gods. It was a time to be dreaded by the god-fearing of this land, just as it was often a time of excitement for the scions of Chaos.

Across the camp, groups of sorcerers- 20 in all- practiced their obscene ceremonies. Hundreds of miles away the great gate quaked with power, as the sorcerers, empowered by dozens of sacrifices, drew fel magic into the land. Winds of an aethyric sort grew and the plagues that had begun to ravage the province propagated with a quickening pulse.

Focused as they were on these rituals, or else sleeping or warily watching the forests for the expected ground assault, the sentries did not notice the wingbeats of the birds above, many of which were the size of lions. Hippogrypths and stormcrows, each dyed in black and split into squadrons, flew stealthily above the camp to pre-designated locations.

Well over two hundred hippogrypths were involved; each mounted by a keen eyed sentinel archer whose attuned night vision could mark targets even in the darkest night. A few carried Alliance champions on their backs, individuals who had proven themselves across worlds and realities. They were accompanied by near matching numbers of the druids of the talon, shapeshifters who stood poised to activate long planted traps at a moment's notice. To provide a final support to the Kaldorei force were nearly a dozen Griffins- portalled in at some magical expense- upon which were mounted the SI:7 agents. Some carried bombs, others rifles of which a SI:7 sniper could boastfully yet accurately claim to knock out targets hundreds of meters away.

Of course so many flyers at once could normally be heard, even if they weren't seen, however the rituals and their cheering below carried such a cacophony as to drown out such wingbeats.

Above the Chaos Dwarf compound the golden eyed crow nodded to his compatriot beside him, a Wildhammer dwarf on a gryphon -a contractor of the SI:7- that carried in his hand a long brass horn. The dwarf blew long and loud like thunder. Lightning followed.

* * *

 _He had never bothered to get to know her name. Indeed, what point was there, for he was lord, and she was a Brought-Low, a fallen glory, a queen of arachnids who found no fealty from men. It hadn't been his worth to get to do so, for the spider was a source of information, nothing more._

 _And now that source was cut, the night after he had finally asked…demanded of her the name of the creature that so tormented his dreams._

 _And it was a terrible death at that. She had been wrapped in her web and squeezed so tight as to prevent any movement. Then through a series of pincer like holes, she had been drained to complete exsanguination._

' _ **It was a spider's death. '**_

 _The voice causes Sayl to snap around, where he found one of the strange elves that populated this land gazing at him. Only, no, there was a sense of wrongness of this elf, as he bore cloven feet, mutated limbs and eyes sanguine._

 _It continued on, scarcely noticing the power Sayl was drawing to himself._

' _ **A death Madam Mothestrull had inflicted upon countless mortals across the millennia, and with far greater glee than I performed my execution.**_

 _ **Suitably ironic, don't you think, that the spider queen fears a fate that she gladly doles out onto others? But it is not an irony unique to her, for I have found that mortals so love to inflict the suffering and hardships onto others that they themselves dread. '**_

 _The cursed creature smiled benevolently at Sayl as he finished._

 _The Dolgan snarled and his staff flared, sending a harsh spell towards the demon. The spell went right on through and burned the other end of the tent. The specter did not burn into ash as it should, but simply faded away as if it never were._

 _His smile would haunt the chieftain for the rest of the day._

* * *

The plague warriors of the Festrot tribe did not notice, at first, the death of their chanting sorcerer, the wet gurgle that followed a moon-tipped arrow puncturing his throat. After all they were Nurglites- phlegm filled throats and wracking coughs were as common among them as death in a graveyard. Only when he toppled over did the Nurglites find something amiss, and by then fire arrows and concoctions of alchemical fire- supplies portalled in from elsewhere- were falling amongst their gathered masses.

In the Dolgan Camp Sayl emerged from his pavilion chambers bare minutes before the fight, his movements twitchy and excited, frantically ordering his tribe to prepare for an assault. Those who had trained as horse archer cavalry took up their bows however in the dimlit light they had little chance of an accurate hit. But at least they were moderately more prepared when the elves began picking them off one at a time.

Not even Tamurkhan, Lord of the Host, had any such warning. He awoke to heat and flame, his palace pavilion on fire, his nurglite men ineffectively hurling blades as if they had the reach or speed to hit the fast moving fliers above. Indeed, at times this only worsened the situation, as what goes up must come down and on at least a few occasions, these poor-man's projectiles came down on their own heads.

The Plague Lord broke from his tent even as it collapsed around him. Singed and enraged, the uncontrollable brute nature of the ogre lord momentarily took over. Tamurkhan roared his hate and wrath and defiance at the heavens, as if that would be enough to drive away the birds. He received naught but a handful of arrows back in return, one that came unnervingly close to his right eye.

Not that shooting him in the eye would do anything, of course...

None of these lords were on the so-called outer wings of the campgrounds. Indeed, they deliberately had placed other tribes on the outskirts- those of lesser favor, the weaker or of outmaneuvered riders. They would be the first to be hit by any Kaldorei assault that managed to bypass the sentries. A correct assumption, for they were. The assault of the Night Elves was not an attempt of silent sabotage as had been previous nights, or a low-key raid but a sudden, massed assault that saw most of the Kaldorei reserves committed. Jarod saw this as a final act to commit as many causalities as he could before he would have to worry about static defenses.

Nearly eight thousand druids, dyrads and sentinels struck as one, in such numbers that not even the few hundred chaos warriors that patrolled the camp could fight them off. Nevertheless, these warriors were the greatest of their lands and the scourge of those empires around them. While in many places the tide of Kaldorei overwhelmed the metal clad giants through tooth and claw and arrow and poisoned javelin, in other places groups of these warriors fought on like the legends each of them were, carving out a bloody ledger in return for their deaths. They were rocks before the onrushing water, but each of them cost the Kaldorei time and lives before they were swept away.

However, it was the Chaos Dwarf camp, which bore the harshest assault. Here were the heavy giants, the hell-forged artillery, the grim-clad legions, and the very machinery on which the logistical needs of this horde relied on. It was here that the Hippogrypths came armed with moon-blessed arrows shipped from the Temple and bombs forged in Ironforge and portalled through time and space. Here too was the SI:7 themselves, who had better experience with explosives than their elven allies. And most of all, here too were the druids themselves, masters of the wilds and all natural things whether flora or fauna. Even the lowliest of creatures, whether it is the humble worm or the untapped seed, fell under their purview.

It was within the nature of the fire dwarf to pay scant heed to the creatures beneath them. Only that which had value, such as a rare Asur slave, or that which was a potential and clear threat, like the Black Orc tribes, drew any serious notice and even then the Dwarfs only ever had scornful contempt for their foes. The small things, those that registered as neither threat nor source of material value, were fit only to be crushed beneath their iron-clad boots.

It is perhaps fitting then that which the Dwarfs would have never in a million years considered a threat that which to a Dawi Zharr was worth less than the dirt they resided in, arose en masse to defy those exceptions.

Four score crows landed on the earth and, with hands alight in a green grow, commanded every meticulously planted seed in the camp to rise!

Within moments, the landscape changed from that of a barren battleground to a small forest of a 100 trees. Some sprouted up so fast that their limbs tangled onto a unwary hobgoblin or dwarf, spiraling them up above and then dropping them from a story high. Flowers bloomed in their thousands, sprouting clouds of choking pollen that was directed into hobgoblin archers and C. Dawi gunners. Vines arose to grab at the feet of the Legions of Azgorth.

It was the wrath of nature against the twisted Dwarf's terrible machinery and the druids were the facilitators.

Others took advantage of it. The Chaos Dwarf machinery had been marked as a primary threat since the earliest scouting forays, yet the Sentinels have had scant few opportunities to sabotage, for the plaguelord and sorcerer-prophet both had recognized the importance of protecting the artillery.

Now they seized the moment with a zeal that only men and women with lives resting on their shoulders could do. Bundles of seed sprouted upon impact, erupting into a writhing mass of green vines that wound themselves around the vehicles, crushing some of the weaker joints. Others erupted below to grab the vehicles to try to pull them into a burial. Still others were straight bombed by the Ironforge munitions.

However, even in a successful ambush the Chaos Dwarfs would not forget their duty and purpose. Silent brooding Infernal Guards aroused themselves by the hundreds and poured out of their stone-wrought dwellings and without a single beat of surprise hewed down unnatural tree and plant alike. Cursing Daemonsmiths swore grim vows of vengeance against the attackers as they ripped off vines with axe and hand and teeth, even. Those unsuccessful in these endeavors tore at their beards in rage and anguish, knowing that the shame of their failure and lost value of the war machines would oblige them into the silent Infernal Legions until death or debt was paid.

A few of the machines came alive with a horrible sort of sentience and writhed against their chains. One actually broke free and massacred both surprised Kaldorei saboteurs who had tried to plant charges on their sides and even their own handlers, who tried to reign it in most unsuccessfully.

The dozen or so Gryphon Riders took advantage of the Chaos to drop their deadly cargo on the tops of the sturdiest of the high branches. Sentinel Sharpshooters and trained SI:7 snipers were dropped off there, with the former wielding bows while the latter pulled out the newest and experimental of their Kearnen class rifles; the namesake herself among this sortie. And though Agent Amber Kearnen was a little embarrassed at the 'honor' of the association, she could not deny feeling pleased by the rifle itself, particularly as her own chosen instrument named 'Claire" got a corresponding upgrade.

It was the result of years of fervent Dwarf engineering and the rifle itself no longer needed blackpowder to function, instead using self-contained cartridges. Moreover, by cycling her rounds through an ingenious chamber she could fire them faster than she had ever thought possible.

The gnomes and goblins had more advanced rifles by far, but so far precious few of those had shown any ability to be replicated outside of the mad laboratories of those races.

Kearnen and her followers marked their targets well, for it seemed a basic facet of psychology that all officers- Alliance or Horde, Azeroth or off-worlder- felt the need to mark themselves with special uniforms, trophies and instruments. Every few rounds were punctuated by a crack, and another officer falling dead or injured.

* * *

Back in Sayl's camp, Sayl was chanting and maneuvering his staff about, hastily drawing Winds of Magic to his side. Meanwhile, a group of specialized Hippogrypth Riders flew in a wing pattern over the mammoth pens, which were grazing with unerring calm despite the commotion outside. Specialized satchels fell upon their backs and at the point of contact they burst open, unleashing massive swarms of every stinging insect the Night Elves could scrounge up, their natural poison further enhanced by the druids.  
The mammoths shrieked in agony as countless critters stung and bit. Their surprised handlers could do nothing to calm them with a few of the most determined serving only to be crushed under foot. The mammoths ran and rubbed themselves violently against the sides of the pens with such fervor that, in a few moments, the restraints were broken.

The frenzied beasts rushed outwards to look for anything, anything at all that they could use to crush the insect menace. Some ran for the tree lines, uncaring of the danger there while others headed for the largest and grandest pavilions, ignorant and apathetic of the reality that these structures were not built to withstand a wild mammoth rubbing against it. Still a few more burst towards the far off Chaos Dwarf encampment and their metallic gates - hoping _that_ would be strong enough to do the trick.

The great beasts paid no heed at all to the milling Northmen that were in their way. The fast and the quick and the smart would get out of their way in time...for everyone else, only hideous crunches and piteous screams could attest to their fate.

Raiding bands of Sentinels peppered the soldiers with glaives and arrows, while Dyrads hurled javelins fixed with a toxin so potent it could kill within a minute. However, the Northmen were more prepared now than they had been a month ago; the shock was gone. Marauders gathered their shields together in a loose fitting wall that, while a crude parody of the vast disciplined formations of the southern Empire, were nonetheless effective at mitigating much of the ranged carnage. Arrows and javelins dug in uselessly to these shields, while glaives glanced off. The magic users of the druids were usually shapeshifting and though accomplished individual combatants lacked the sheer power to break through.

These groups would provide cover for the Kurgan to advance from. Of course not all had the discipline to fight behind a shield wall and many, feeling frustrated by this 'cowardly' form of warfare, rushed forward anyway, and were filled with any opportune projectile available.

Only when the greatest of the druids of the talon swooped down did that change. Cyclones erupted within these loose ranks, hurling men into the air and causing a mad scramble among the rest for safety. Arrows and Javelins fell upon these men with a renewed vigor.

But then roars that erupted in the air forced these druidic masters to return as the Chaos Dragons took to the skies. With the exceptions of those over the C. Dawi base, most of the hippogrypths riders re-converged on the dragons for here was the first threat to their air superiority.

Alas, it was also at this moment that the limits of elven armory became apparent as arrows shattered uselessly against the thick dragon hide while the glaives glanced off and left only scratches behind. Even bursts of natural mage and moon-enchanted arrows, though capable of penetrating the dragon hide, lacked the momentum to go very deep and, for the most part, only cause the dragons irritation.

By contrast, the dragons unleashed unrestricted immolation on their foes. The Hippogrypths swerved and veered, but invariably they would be caught by the gouts, and immolated. When Hippogrypths dared dart forward to attack they were seized in dragon jaws or swiped by their claws.

* * *

Elsewhere, some of the giants had emerged into the Dawi Zharr camp, drawn by the violence and commotion. Chaos Dwarf lieutenants- already shamed by the act of hiding behind cover- ordered the giants to uplift the trees and crush the snipers within. In wide arcs, the siege giants- with vast blades and flails affixed to their arms- could fell half a dozen grouped trees with a single strong sweep, and this this did with great glee as Elven and SI:7 snipers were flung screaming to the earth or else crushed by their very platforms.

Hippogrypths riders- even rider less Hippogrypths, for in truth the beasts were as smart as any man or elf- flew into action, diving at the giants exposed necks and faces. The giants struck at the air like children trying to swat away a swarm of stinging bees, only these children trailed long flails or blades stuck to their arms. Havoc ensued.

By now the numbers of the Chaos Dwarfs and Hobgoblins had been aroused, and those on the earthen floor were forced to retreat, signaling for hippogrypths to swoop in and try to perform a daring pickup, climb the trees for a more safe pickup or else be overwhelmed. Those still on the trees unleashed arrow after arrow to cover their fellows, while the crack of the rifle became more pronounced.

Still, the Chaos Dwarfs were not the Northmen, to whom the ranged method of combat was looked on upon as the realm of weaklings. The Hobgoblins brought out their bows and the Dawi Zharr their blunderbusses and, in a salvo of uncoordinated but nevertheless overwhelming fire proliferated the trees. Dozens of elves- and a handful of men- fell out of them.

Elsewhere, the tables were turning, as more and more men grouped together and pushed back against the warrior women and shapeshifting men. Sentinels were tackled in the midst of drawing their bows, elf-bears bore down by the weight and blows of their foes.

In the Dolgan camp Sayl succeeded in mustering enough power to seize control of the winds above. Hurricane force winds battered the skies as the hippogrypths struggled to stay in the air. Many floundered, but most ultimately stayed afloat- a different fate than the weaker storm crow druids, most of whom were flung from the air to land -safely or not.  
Then the clouds roared and flashes of light followed that left a half a dozen hippogrypths and their riders as charred as if they had been under dragon fire.

* * *

On that subject, the dragons continued their aerial duel with the hippogrypths. It had become more even now, as though in power the dragons were ascendant, the hippogrypths were as smart as any beast that walked or flew over the earth, and were becoming more wary, more contemplative in their movements. No slouches themselves, the dragons were still outnumbered in their duels 5-1 and while the attacks of the hippogrypths were drawing naught but pricks of blood, it was starting to add up.

And then it happened. A calculative decision was made, a moment was seized and one bold hippogrypths seized upon a moment of distracted fighting to leap onto one of the dragon's enormous wings, tearing at the membrane and bone with tooth and claw. Its rider caught on, and added glaive swings to the blows as the Dragon turned in fury, breathing flame. The hippogrypths tried using the dragon's own wing as cover only to have it whip back hard enough to shatter bone and knock the rider off.

The hippogrypths was already falling when flames added a final bit of fury to its demise. Yet the beast's final deed was done, for the remaining wing could not support the chaos dragon's weight and, a moment later, the chaos dragon and its own metal clad rider were falling like a giant, flaming meteor.

Still, the scene of triumph was tragically if heroically won for the Night Elves, and did not change the fact that the battle below had turned decisively in the Northmen's favor. A horn blew long and loud once more, to be taken up by a scattered number of other horn blowers across camp. It meant retreat.

The Northmen surged like a tide, swallowing many under their waves before they could escape. Yet Sentinels were veterans of countless years of training and fell back swiftly, but with discipline. Those who managed to exit their engagements shot arrows and flung glaives to assist those who hadn't. Thus, many who would have been swallowed stayed ahead of the water.

Ironic as it was, for the Chaos Dwarf camp was in the center of the entire enemy army, it was there that the evacuation initially had the easiest time, for every druid in that mission knew how to turn into a stormcrow, every hippogrypths selected trained to operate evacuation while under fire.

Such a fact did not sit well with Drazhoath, the Chaos Dwarf having emerged from his divine backed meditations in a wrath. Having spent precious minutes gathering enough magic, the High-Prophet sat sitting now on top of his flying mount Cinderbreath, a incantation on his breath. The last syllable was spat out with total hate, and a moment later the skies above his base went alight with his fury.

The clouds turned fel, and unleashed a hailstorm of molten rock the size of apples. Hippogrypths and their cargo screamed as they were battered and blazed all at once, the trees below began to burn and the cries of beast and man and elf and giant and hobgoblin and dwarf all melded together in a chorus of agony as Drazhoath, cursing once more the weak magic of this planet, used all his might to widen his spell further still. That many of those caught up in the spell were of his own mattered little to the Dwarf Lord at this moment for this was about repaying an affront now and when it came to settling grudges of hate, the fire dwarfs were as reasonable as the most vengeful of their western cousins.

Yet, unlike a roaring animal, Drazhoath's cold mind never gave into bestial hate and even as the fire roared across earth and sky his calculating mind was weighing losses. The most important assets, the war machines, he anticipated would suffer zero losses and minor damages, for those devices were already forged in molten flame, and it would take more than he was unleashing to truly destroy them. His giants hopped and rolled and roared, but he expected few losses there too, with their darksteel armor, and what giant that fell would obviously be the weakest and least valuable of the pack.

The Dwarfs of the Infernal Guard were as protected for the same reason and, indeed, never screamed out, for such was their oath. Dwarfs, not of the guard, however, did and Drazhoath's reasoning mind recognized some loss of overall army value from their death however that same mind was quick to remember that some of his Infernal Guards were once engineers before taking/being forced into their oaths.

He had the authority to 'forgive' such things, as was befitting his station as a high-prophet, though in practice of course this was rarely done even if the Infernal Guard managed to do something heroic for forgiveness was as much an alien concept to the children of Zharr as mercy. So the deaths of any Zharr below was easily replaceable, in his view.

His mind never considered the hobgoblins for, honestly, who cared about them?

Nor did he ever consider whether revenge was worth the sacrifice, for heresy deserves only retribution of its own. True, normally such actions were to be planned for and undertaken over years, but certain adaptions had to be made for a foe that proved unnervingly quarrelsome.

Yet Drazhoath had made a mistake in his calculations, an objective one, rather than any subjective determination of value. For in casting the spell he had been arrogantly confident in his own prowess, and the inability of any on Azeroth to counter him. Such petty tricks at the Moonguard had not impressed him, the strange life magic of the elves here he only treated with the same scorn he had for all life. Never did he conceive that any of these elves might match him in prowess.

He was wrong.

Hundreds of feet away, a golden crow hovered high above, his eyes fixed on the evil clouds that threatened to consume all his charges. The archdruid- Malfurion's greatest student- mustered all his magical might into a single spell.

Behind him, a billowing storm of gale winds, a deep blue hue and sky shattering lightning formed in moments. Then, with an angry command, the storm surged forward. Blue smashed into red in a unnatural mixing of shifting colors and powers. The clouds turned from a bright red to an eerie blue before settling somewhere in between.

In the end, neither storm prevailed but Broll Bearmantle succeeded in driving the rock cloud further east, right over Drazhoath's forces.

Cursing, Drazhoath dissipated the spell only to cry out in pain as he shoulder reddened. One of the snipers below had dared take a shot, a would-be killing blow stopped only by the incredible strength of the Chaos Dwarf's armor.

Vowing vengeance, the Chaos Dwarf nevertheless veered Cinderbreath sharply below, narrowly dodging another sniper round in the process.

The retreat continued, with those gryphons and hippogrypths not too badly wounded by the storm continuing to seek out grounded sentinels or SI:7 agents. Other druids themselves landed to tend to those hippogrypths grievously wounded, hastily casting healing spells to restore their bones and allow them to make at least a flight back.

However, the rage of the Chaos Dwarfs and their servants was not quite spent. Many fired their blunderbusses or arrows (if hobgoblin) in the air, and, here and there, a great winged beast screamed in pain, or was even brought low. In the cascade's climax, one vengeful Daemonsmith unleashed a hailstorm of death shrieker rockets- deadly projectiles into which the souls of daemons were bound.

There were twelve of them in all and, of those, one was blown off course and landed in a thankfully unoccupied part of the battlefield. Another detonated harmlessly in the air, while another two decided their tormentors were better targets instead, and exploded amongst the largest groupings of hobgoblins or chaos dwarfs they could find.

However, the rest continued on at impossible speeds, their fel intelligence veering through trees and rain. Broll saw the threat and hastily directed wind and lightning against the projectiles, downing two, however the rest carried on and easily adapted to the panicked evasive maneuvers of the beasts.

Six explosions lit the night sky as five hippogrypths and a gryphon, along with their passengers, were destroyed in an instant, the shower of blood and gore all that was left to mark their passing.

It would be the final blow of the night.

* * *

 _I, Drazhoath the Ashen, Lord of the Black Fortress, Commander of the Legion of Azgorth, High Prophet of glorious Hashut, Bringer of Chains, Doom of the Banner-red Urk Tribe, Destroyer of Karak Unmar and Despoiler of the Virtuous Shrine dictate the following grudges on the Elgik people, a race that hides behind trees and dark like the Thaggoraki. Let all who read these pages bear witness to their crimes and so seek restitution in blood and souls._

 _In the name of our Dark Father Restitution is demanded from the Elgik! Through their cowardly actions the Elgik did assail our host like vultures in the night, attacking by surprise and inflicting by treachery what they never could in a contest of arms. For the crime of cowardice Hashut demands the servitude of all who took part. We will bind and break their beasts' backs with molten brass; we will hurl the wingbearers inside the fiery pits of Malice with their feet bound by weighted iron. So declares I, Drazhoath the Ashen, Sorceror-Prophet of the Dark Father._

 _In the name of our Dark Father restitution is demanded from the Elgik! In the aforementioned ambush one Elgik, identified as their leader by mediocre magical skill and stature, flew into our fortress as a golden winged eagle and did unleash his craft to conjure above average winds, damaging structures, personnel and having the audacity to pit his craft against I, Drazhoath the Ashen, Lord of the Black Fortress, in an attempted assault. For this insult to the collective kin of the Dawi Zharr Hashut demands the capture of this skin-changing Elgik, that his wings and form might be bound in molten gold and his spirit bound to the stature, to be set upon the highest roof of the Black Fortress so that it may watch the progress of our empire and know despair for all time. So declares I, Drazhoath the Ashen, Sorceror-Prophet of the Dark Father._

 _In the name of our Dark Father restitution is demanded from the Elgik! The deaths of sixty and four Infernal Guard lay before them, their value having not been fully extracted at the time of their death. By the calculations of Zharkanul, Scholar of the Lesser Races, the required restitution shall be three times the deed for the temerity of the insult, ten times the deed for the inferior worth of their race when measured next to a son of the Dark Father , two and a half times the deed for payment of the Infernal Guard's extant services at the time of their demise and an additional one fifth the deed for the cowardly manner in which it was done. Thus Hashut demands one thousand and five Elgik souls turned over to Hashut for restitution, or five times that number in Elgik skulls. So declares I, Drazhoath the Ashen, Sorceror-Prophet of the Dark Father._

 _In the name of our Dark Father restitution is demanded from the Elgik's Umgi allies! Through the cowardly and mediocre rifle work of a unknown one eyed Umgi female, hired by the Elgik for murder, the life of Daemonsmith apprentice Ruvrirlum Silverborn was claimed. In the name of Hashut this assassin shall have her arms broken and her remaining eye gouged in with molten brass until the secrets of her weapon's craft hath been extracted, whereupon she will be executed by blunderbuss, her body taken to be disposed of as food for the other Umgi Chattel. Simultaneously, the Elgik must forfeit the souls of two of their kind for every year of Silverborn's service- one in recompense and one to account for equivalent training of Silverborn's successor. In addition, another hundred Elgik souls must be given over in recompense for the cowardly hiring and ten each for the other eight Dawi slain by this assassin's hand. This will need to be done, or five times the required Elgik will be slain. So declares I, Drazhoath the Ashen, Sorceror-Prophet of the Dark Father._

 _In the name of our Dark Father restitution is demanded from the Elgik! In their cowardly strike the Elgik-_ _who would shame even a Elgi through their lack of bravery!-_ _did damage the following war machines six and ten war machines, ten of which were damaged beyond repair. For this unthinkable crime against the Dawi Zhar's craftsmanship Hashut demands fifty Elgik cosigned to slavery for every war machine damaged, and a hundred destroyed! Thirteen hundred Elgik must put into chains for the rest of their feeble, elongated lives to make up for the damages, or ten times the number slain. So declares I, Drazhoath the Ashen, Sorceror-Prophet of the Dark Father._

 _In the name of our Dark Father restitution is demanded from the Elgik! Precisely four hundred and thirty two hobgoblins were slain through their ill-deeds, inflicting some minor damage on the operations on this planet. By the calculations of Zharkanul, Scholar of the Lesser Races, the elgik must turnover one of their own for every twenty Hobgoblin slain, or cosign two to death for the same crime. So declares I, Drazhoath the Ashen, Sorceror-Prophet of the Dark Father._

 _In the name of our Dark Father restitution is demanded from the Elgik! Through their shameful acts the Elgik did slay three siege giants in their aforementioned raids, and caused injuries to another six of such severity as to diminish their worth. By the calculations of Zharkanul, Scholar of the Lesser Races, the worth of a Elgi is five less than a giant, for the longevity of a Elgi and their potency of sacrifices doth raise their worth despite their frailness of body and spirit, while the inept dexterity of the giant typically causes inopportune damage to property, whether slave or material. To this I add a price of ten times the deed, for the military capabilities of the Siege Giants would have benefitted the coffers of Zhardom for years to come. Thus fifteen souls for the giants slain, another fifteen for those injured, and ten times both for the loss of future monetary giant resulting in a demand of three hundred Elgik souls in chains, or three times the number dead. So declares I, Drazhoath the Ashen, Sorceror-Prophet of the Dark Father._

 _In the name of our Dark Father restitution is demanded from the Elgik! Through the means of petty magic our camp was despoiled by the sudden eruption of fecundic life, resulting in the reversal of labor and damage to property. For the crime of vandalism Hashut demands the hands of those who performed such acts of pathetic magickery or the subjugation of the perpetrators until the overseer is satisfied. So declares I, Drazhoath the Ashen, Sorceror-Prophet of the Dark Father._

(The List of grievances went on for dozens of pages)

* * *

The scions of Chaos had gotten in the parting blow, yet this deed could not conceal the effectiveness of the raid itself. By the meticulous count of the Chaos Dwarfs almost one third of their war machines present had been damaged and perhaps a quarter beyond all ability to salvage. Four Siege giants had been slain over the course of the battle- usually through druid tricks- and another six suffering various degrees of wound.

For Dawi Zharr causalities themselves it was eventually determined that a eighty and six had been slain, including twelve officers, and three times more wounded. Almost all of those would survive, for the Dwarf constitution was tough, though the most grievously maimed would have to be sacrificed, along with the prisoners, to Hashut for favor.

The scions of Chaos of course, did not count their own causalities for they lacked either the care to do so or even individuals capable of such estimations. In this regard, all we have to determine such deaths were the reports of the Sentinel commanders themselves, who, though professionals, were at times as prone to boasting or speaking pride fully of their troop's accomplishments.

According to them, they claimed three lives for every Sentinel fallen or wounded and that may well be so, for they came by surprise and with air support, using tricks and numbers hereto unseen. However, if it were true, it may have contributed to the sense of false confidence that took some of the less experienced Sentinels, who knew not that an edge in unconventional warfare may not necessarily be a boon in conventional. This would prove significant in the days to come.

However, some losses were noted by even the chaos commanders, for they were mindful to that which was valuable to themselves. The camp's two dozen mammoths had all run amok and, though most were eventually calmed, no less than four maddened beasts were put down, either by their reluctant handlers or through sheer numbers hacking at their limbs. The Plague Ogres had suffered losses totaling forty of their kind, though the bruisers that maintained order did not mind as much, for there would be feasting later that night. One of the dragons had been slain when it catapulted from the sky while another, victim of the same tactic that claimed the first, had been crippled by the venture, unable to fly though this still left the beast a very formidable piece of walking, fire-breathing artillery.

Finally, five sorcerers were among the dead, victims of determined Sentinel or SI:7 assassination efforts.

However, such pain did not come without a cost. The Sentinels also kept records and, according to them, over six hundred Sentinels, druids or dyrads had been killed or captured, with many more wounded. Even with healing aid, it was expected that not all the wounded would survive.

Such statistics would have mattered little to Tamurkhan, if he had known, for it would do little to assuage his now constant wrath. To the maggot's mind his foes were cowards of the most vile kind, leeches that sought to bleed his forces dry without ever risking a true fight. The plague-worshipper in him could appreciate the tactic, for he had used disease and pestilence as sapping weaknesses before, but never had he deigned to suffer it himself while the Kurgan warrior within him disdained the Hung like cowardice!

Once again he itched to use a certain scroll gifted to him months ago by his daemonic patron but, once again, he abstained, feeling the faint echo of divine disapproval at such an act.

It was not the right time, yet...

* * *

 _ **In the land of dreams**_

 _Through the insectoid lips of the Spider-Lady, he was given a name. Through the cursed throats of the native torture broken elves- The 'Kaldorei'- he was given a tale. And, through his own inferences, he was given intentions._

 _ **I know you,**_ _the chieftain spoke to the shadows that surrounded him; an all-encompassing void through which no light could be found. But, to the attuned senses of him, movement ._

 _ **Xavius**_ _He named the beast, causing the dream to begin to stir._ _ **First minister to your Queen, since betrayed. First mortal servant of the so-called Burning Legion, since betrayed. Puppet to the Old Ones that are said**_ _ **buried beneath this world and if the pattern holds, since or soon to be betrayed.**_

The movements of the shadows were clear now, as was the mirthful voice.

 _ **Would you consider me Faithless, then, human?**_

 _Sayl bristled a little at this a little, but managed to calm himself, for he was better prepared now._

 _ **I would consider you a failure, "Nightmare Lord". A schemer of subpar ability who has lost every endeavor he ever strived for. How many times have you faced the Kaldorei and their so-called Stormrage and how many times have you failed in that task? The answer to both is one and the same, from the lips of your former kin.**_

 _The Nightmare Lord snarled_

 _Around him the shadows began to coalesce into scenes of nightmare. Worlds appeared before him aflame, creatures reached from the deep to drown whole towns and swarms of unknown horrors overran all. Sayl smiled; he had made this creature angry._

 _Yet the snarls subsided into a laugh of ugly intensity and dark humor. A madman's laugh, recognizable to any man of the Wastes._

 _ **Failure? Are you fool or simply so blind to see the truth behind the narrative, the ones my self-assured former kin wish to bury? Every**_ _ **failure**_ _ **has only brought me more power and weakened my enemies permanently! My first? At my first death I arose into a brilliant new body and found my command of the daemon's fel magic amplified to be as easy as breathing. My children- the first Satyrs- have bled and battled my former kin for millennia since. My second? I became a lord of Nightmares, a whole realm to my name, and the night terrors held the world captivity. Only desperation and improbable acts beat me, and the Nightmare has troubled and weakened them ever since. My third? Oh child of man, you can't believe how much more ambitious and powerful I have become.**_

 _A being appeared before him now, still shrouded in darkness but whose form was now clear. It was no elf nor daemon, but something in between and made more monstrous all the same._

 _ **And, unlike you, I have never cut ties with, never 'betrayed' my former benefactors. They knew exactly what they hired. Attachments can be reforged, if they suit me, and I will only grow stronger in their patronage.**_

 _Sayl had grown really tired of the creatures monologue. He cared not for any of it, since Xavius did not provide an answer to Sayl's chief desire_

 _ **You failed your way to the top then. Bravo! However what use does such a mighty and 'successful' villain have of me, Nightmare Lord? What do you seek of this chieftain? Do you wish for me to serve as an envoy for my waking master, to bargain for an alliance so that you can achieve the victory of the Kaldorei you never could yourself?**_

 _More laughs; oh how Sayl grew tired of it._

 _ **Alliances? What use would I have of an alliance with your Tamurkhan, Plague-Lord, Maggot King, Scion of the Grandfather and the Great Kurgan both? From your dreams, from their dreams and his own I already know everything about him, and your enemies too from prior occasions. Had I wanted to, I could touch his mind myself. But I won't, for I know your forces and I know your foes, and I would rather not spend my forces needlessly on a failing mission.**_

 _Sayl sneered_ _ **Failure? Our foes haven't met us on the field once, only retreating like cowards into the night on every occasion. They are petty, weak and feeble. Tamurkhan will crush them and their holy places.**_

 _The Nightmare only smiled_

 _ **Wait and see.**_

 _ **Answer my question then, abomination. If not an alliance than what do you seek?**_

 _Xavius pointed at the earth around him. The shadows dissipated at his command, and as far as the eye could see were mounds of dirt feet high. No, not mounds of dirt- Sayl remembered the events of the previous night._

 _ **What I want, dearest Sayl, is what the Plaguefather and his druidic foes both want. To plant some seeds, and watch them grow.**_

* * *

 _Reality was so much more than what mortals could see; in fact, they could even see the barest glimmer, the surface of an infinitely deep series of interconnected realms. From one, a Chieftain of treachery and a Lord of Nightmares bickered and schemed, imagining themselves to be plotters above all others, manipulators who moved about in realms unseen and struck bargains beyond mortal ken._

 _ **They had no idea just how many could see them right now.**_

 _One of them chortled and laughed with good nature,_ _ **His**_ _chins- each the size of mountains- jiggling on their own motion. Alliances would be indeed forged that night, though perhaps not in a fashion either could imagine. For the term 'frenemy' took on all new connotations in this realm, where concepts and thoughts coalesced into reality. In the mind's eye, where words turned into images, one could see an endless series of agreements signed and burned, hands shaken even as daggers were driven into their same partner's backs._

 _The mighty, genial_ _ **Being**_ _looked at the mortal land before him in all its verdant fecundity and beauty. He saw fauna both familiar and new, flora of ten thousand varieties, and other, more varied things by the millions._ _ **He**_ _looked at the lands before him and smiled a smile that was as wide as a canyon range. For this_ _ **Being**_ _was absolutely certain of one thing._

 _This land would make a wonderful garden._

* * *

 **THOUGHTS & CONCEPTS- TECHNOLOGY**

I have decided to talk about technology this week, as I have just introduced a character wielding a bolt action rifle. First, to explain, I do feel the technology is justified already in lore. While they initially started as pure gunpowder weapons, even by the end of Classic they were morphing into cartridge weapons- 'slugs' or 'shells' in the now-defunct ammunition bags. This was compounded by the visual of said ammo, which clearly showed a cartridge. Increasingly, as the expansions have gone on they have upped the firepower of rifles and cannons(more on the latter in a second) such as adding scopes and all sorts of attachments in Cata, giving the Iron Horde semi-automatic rifles in WOD (remnants of which joined the Horde proper in BFA), specifically noting the speed a regular (non-engineer) goblin can fire in WOT (three to four rounds in less in only a couple of seconds) and the rampant use of riflemen in the Alliance in the latest expansion.

Needless to say, the below will serve as my (general) thoughts on technology.

 **Bullet/spell/horns - the Warcraft Triforce**

In the game of Stellaris, there are three paths to ascension. The first, robotics, can be considered the more traditional path to ascendency by achieving a technological singularity and becoming all powerful through that means. The second, biological, is done through continuously upgrading your species through genetic engineering making them stronger, faster, smarter etc until you are basically biologically immortal. The third, psionics, is basically tapping into the Not-Warp and using that outside dimension where magic clearly exists to make yourself immortal.

In Warcraft, I would propose a similar **triforce** exists, in regards to how nations project their power. The first is, of course, nations that rely on good old fashion firearms, tanks, airplanes and other elements of **technology.** These peoples are technically inclined and include the Gnomes, 2/3 Dwarf clans, Goblins and the Blackrock clan of the Iron Horde.

The second is **biological.** This means that the given race has certain natural gifts that they rely on in combat. For example, a orc is much stronger (wielding weapons that way hundreds of pounds) and likely a bit faster than a human, and assuming equal training and similar equipment can generally be assumed to be equal to several of his mannish counterparts. The Tauren are even greater in this strength however bological advantages don't necessary translate into 'just' strength. For example the Forsaken don't need most of what they wear, the trolls can regenerate entire limbs given enough time, the elves have superhuman reactions and greater speed (along with, shown in this story, the bio-magical trait of shadowmelding) while the Worgen have both speed and ferocity.

The third is, of course, **magical.** There are many types of magic, of course ranging from the arcane to druidism to shamanism and more. Societies that heavily utilize this method of supremacy include all elven factions, the Zandalari, Draenei, Dalaran etc.

Of course, as keen-eyed readers may have noted, no society on Azeroth fits neatly into any of these categories. For example, the Kaldorei both make use of their potent natural gifts and their magical druidic abilities (biological/magic). The Gnomes love to explore magic just as much as science(magic/science) while the Forsaken are infamous for their mixture of chemical weapons with their 'biological' advantage of not needing to breathe.

Intersections exist at all three angles. The mixture of biology and magic can be called, for lack of better word, **'alchemical mutations'.** This is the process of taking raw magic or some magical item or solution and inserting it into a form to alter it substantially. Most infamous versions of this methodology are the Dire Trolls, Dire Orcs and Hobgoblins, most of which are created by magic and cannot reproduce into viable species. The exception is the Dire Troll, an odd mutation that can appear naturally, almost like a recessive gene, amongst the trolls. Perhaps this was originally a alchemical mutation that was somehow stabilized into the gene pool.

All of the above are typically short-lived.

The mixture of science and biology is called **biotechnology**. This method is little used in Warcraft though, present. It is likely that the creation of Gilgoblins- which are shown to have their own functional independent society- are a creation of genetic engineering by the goblin genius Hobart Grapplehammer. While instances of biotechnology are limited in canon, expect it to be explored more in Chroniclesverse.

And then there is the most common mixture of science and technology or, **'magi-tech'** **This is technology whose construction is based upon magic, and is unlikely to be possible without it.** The Vindicaar, Golems, and Naaru technology are all this, same as the Hellfire or Warpstone Cannon for Fantasy. This term must be differentiated from **'techno-magic'** which is taking already existing technology then adding magic to it. Steam tanks and gyrocopters can fire magic bullets, for example, but magic isn't necessary for their construction- they can just as easily fire regular bullets.

As an addendum I do recognize that infamous Law of Clarke's that states that science and magic, at a high enough level, is indistinguishable from one another. I am also aware that POV can be a factor, for a Skaven or Chaos Dwarf are likely to consider their crafts 'technology' while a Warhammer Dwarf would sneer at both for their 'unnatural' construction. A Warcraft dwarf meanwhile may well not have those same concerns.

Also the **'technobabble'** of the gnomes and goblins, though incomprehensible, is not magic unless specifically said to significantly incorporate magical elements, like the arcane. That said my opinion of these advancements are that, while existent, they are limited because of difficulty of reproduction. This can come from the exotic nature of materials, the incomprehensibility of the tinker's instructions to the manufacturer (whose input is at least as important, if not more so, than the scientist),the cost to do so, the need for proper safety testing (which is a concern to the Alliance/Horde- not so much for the Skaven), or the possibility that the tinker is in fact mad and barely knows himself how he actually made it, much less explain so to someone else. And yes there is the fact that experimental technology usually has a large number of quirks behind it, which still need to be ironed out.

Or, to use a real life example, the United States has undertaken plenty of research into weapons seen inside of Sci-Fi- plasma, lasers, railguns, phasers etc. They even made some workable, albeit limited, prototypes, with a few (railgun and naval laser energy weapons) being approved for field testing and plans for wider adaption. Yet so far none of these experimental weapons have been mass produced on a scale to equip wide segments of the US military and would only make an appearance in combat, if at all, in a very few select situations.

In Warcraft tanks, gyrocopters, telescopic sights, mechs, and robots have all passed the prototype stage, and can be seen in the armies of the Western Alliance with some frequency (though the gnomes are the only ones who seem comfortable using the latter two). Lasers, Plasma, Shrink Rays, radiation based weapons and the like have not, and while there is a fair likelihood of an eccentric gnomish engineer bringing one of these to battle, it is unlikely that you will see them equipped in mass.

 **Magi-tech vs. Tech**

I would like to explore more fully the differences between technology and magi-technology, using the elves as an example.

First, it must be noted that elves in Warcraft generally do not advance in ways that we would recognize. With some exceptions they do not favor traditional technological advancement (aka science based) such as with Dwarfs and Humans, but instead rely on the development of magic, and 'magi-tech' , which advances in different ways.

For example, the gun. The development of the gun, first invented in China in the real world, came as the result of research into certain chemical compositions that, when mixed together and ignited, acted as a incendiary. The invention of steel came about as a result of a mergence of steel and carbon at the right temperatures, while today developments are made every year in sophisticated robotics.

I do not think the Elves could invent the gun. I do not think magic could invent steel or build a artificial intelligence as we would recognize it.

However, what they can do is magically alter ('enchant') some iron or even cloth (as did occur in one of the Knaack novels) to have the strength of, or near that of steel. I think they can carve a golem of stone and magically enchant it with a fragment of their own intelligence. I think they can build a cylinder enhanced with some chrono-boosting spell that fires a magical arcane missile at enhanced speed and which explode upon contact. I think you could see specialized ammunition like fire, ice or even ammo that is enchanted to seek out the one targeted.

For the most part, magitech is technology based upon magic. The Fel Cannon is improvement on the already existing cannon, just as the Helcannon seems to be also based (though the Dawi Zharr would never admit it!) on the normal cannon only upgraded in size and with daemonic power. The Skaven are perhaps the greatest purveyors of this and much of their tech base is either stolen from or 'inspired' by those of the other races.

However magitech advancements can include, of course, wholly unique equipment from Azeroth as they use materials that are explicitly magical (crystals) in unique ways. For example, the Draenei crystal tower is basically a giant fashioned crystal that is given some intelligence and power to defend on its own. The half-crystaliline Lightforged Warframe comes as the result of possibly millennia of technological research by the Army of the Light's engineers and requires no less than the crystalized blood of titans (or something magically equivalent) as fuel.

Magitech carries **several advantages** over traditional technology. **The first** is that the magical weapons generally have greater power behind them then non-magical equipment, along with the extra benefits of whatever magic used in the construction. For example, the Fel cannon does seem to have stronger shots than the regular cannon, along with the added benefit that fel melts flesh and souls. Ditto for the Chaos Dwarf Helfire cannon.

The second is that they can **automatically hit ethereal foes** , though with an asterix, as there are so many loosely explained materials in Warcraft that I am honestly not sure if there is a physical material that has the natural properties that would allow it to hit ghosts or not. While it is almost certain that the Gnomes/Goblins could 'techno-babble' a device that would hit ethereal foes (in fact, I am distinctly remember a play on ghostbusters in one of the WC quests) this is, by definition, something that is not easily replicable on a massive scale like magic is. That said this advantage doesn't just apply to ghosts and the light based weapons of the Lightforged Warframe would do extra damage against daemons just as their magical spells. While regular technology can easily be enhanced by magic, if the operator chooses, this is a extra step and falls into the 'technomagic' category.

 **The third** is that magitech more easily bypasses the laws of physics. Because its magic (partially). Duh.

 **The last major advantage** of Magitech is that magic itself can be used as a power-source. For example, the arcane guardians of the Sin'Dorei/Kirin Tor require arcane crystals in their construction, which are basically magically conductive crystals infused with the arcane. These can presumably also be recharged in time. However, on the higher levels of magitech the regents require highly specific or powerful items, such as the Arkunite crystals that power the Lightforged Warframes- which are the blood of the very titan Argus (it is also theorized that Azerite can work too).

One final limited advantage of Magitech is that it can be gafted with all sorts of magical spells to increase its power, like the aforementioned target-following bullets or fire erupting bullets etc. I say limited for two reasons 1. The increase in magic likely reduces the inherent stability of the weapon and 2. technology can replicate this to an extent, from incendiary rounds, cryo rounds or even 'smart bullets' (lookup DARPA projects for this one). .

So with all that said why would anyone bother with regular technology? Well there are several reasons why, including what may be the single-most greatest advantage of them all.

The **first advantage is reliability** and the comparatively lessened possibility of catastrophic failure. Now it should be noted that regular technology breaks down all the time, and might even cause injury or death. Jams or misfires would occur with firearms. But with magic tech you not only add inherent design flaws into the mix but the inherent volatility of whatever magic you are using. A gun that misfires may be an annoyance while a fel gun that misfires may well burn your body and soul. A Dwarf cannon that blows up may kill the crew, while a Hellcannon that goes awry would devastate a portion of the Dawi Zhar army. I will note that this problem isn't as bad- though present- for Warcraft as its magic is more reliable than Warhammer's.

The second is all too often **uniformity and efficiency.** Thanks to the standardized construction and rigorous testing, ironing out kinks and making improvements here and there, as well as working with materials they can fully understand, regular tech generally operates better and more efficient than magi-tech. For example, in a direct comparison between Empire cannons and Dawi Zharr Cannons the Dawi Zhar were noted for firing with many times more power...but the Empire cannons could fire several times faster.

Now this isn't always true. The Lightforged Warframe is specifically said in canon to have 'zero reliability problems', is efficient in combat, and is the best mech of the setting, hands down. It also requires the literal blood of the gods to operate and is a work of art that seems to require years of careful building.

This all leads to **the greatest advantage traditional technology** has over magi-tek in Warcraft/Warhammer- **production.** Thanks to standardized designs and parts I have found examples of Warcraft engineers building shredders and tanks within a day. Now, there is a big asterix here for doubtlessly the mining of the materials needed, the formation of the individual parts, the bringing of them all together probably takes much longer than a day (with the 'day quote' really only reffering to on the spot assembly) but even adding all that the fact that tanks are commonly and consistently found in Azeroth in some form suggests that the Azeroth nations consider them relatively easy to produce.

By contrast magitek is not easy to produce. First you often require many unique ingredients such as powering crystals, crafted crystaline hulls, delicate craftmanship and many spells and incarnations that require deliberate concentration. You need specialists with potentially years of training to put the device together. Even if you somehow managed to create an assembly line that builds the crystaline chasis, the magical preparations required still add a great deal of time to prepare.

I have no doubt that the goblins could, at a minimum, craft a dozen basic shredders by the time an elf could construct one arcane sentry.

This advantage is highlighted in Warhammer too by the way. For example, it is said to take years for a Dawi Zharr to create one of their war machines, while I have no doubt the Empire could create a cannon a week if they wanted too and had the materials (the regular Dwarfs are also slow, but this is by stubborn choice). It could take a runesmith several months to create one of his rune enchanted swords while a regular blacksmith could easily do hundreds in that time. And why Skaven war machines are relatively common and faster to build then Dawi Zharr, from what I have found this is more the case of Clan Skyre being so large rather than them being super-fast to build.

All of this is under pre-industrial conditions , of small teams of craftsman or engineers working together- once Azeroth hits the industrial age(which they flirt with, most notably Kul Tiras, but aren't quite there yet), then this advantage becomes pronounced into infinite. Industrialization is a game-breaker.

Right now I don't think the setting is unworkable. I think certain detractors make the mistake of assuming historical trends apply verbatim to Azeroth (and often ignorantly- melee warfare survived, even was emphasized, up to the American Civil War despite what the internet would have you believe about how muskets pwned everything). I think that they further do not recognized the cultural/racial/material differences of Azeroth, the limitations behind the tinker-tech (namely, the difficulty in production) and how magic and magitek can blunt the impact of technology to a great degree. But more on that later!

However, I fully believe that once you get factories with giant assembly lines churning out hundreds of shredders or gyrocopters a day, then the Warcraft setting as it is is unworkable. For that matter, if the Empire did that most other factions in the setting would cease to be a threat to them. Fortunately we are not quite there yet!

 **Tech Adaption**

One of my favorite novel series that I have recently read is the Children of Time/Ruin series by Aidrian Tchaikovsky. Spoilers ahead.

The series focuses on the societal and technological development of a species of uplifted spiders and octopuses respectively. And while some elements of technological base appear similar to us humans, others are rather...alien. For examples the spiders never invent the wheel, but they do invest on sillkline transportation resembling their webs all the way up until the space age, where the surface of their planet is basically said to resemble a giant weblike network of stations and satellites. The Octopuses meanwhile, don't advance in a linear line but rather loops as they are a whimsical race that feels bursts of inspiration and depression. One generation they might be loosely akin to modern technology, the next they might advance to the space age before losing interest before taking the time to reinvent it.

In Warcraft, no race is as alien to us as the octopuses and spiders above would be, but they are still culturally different.

The Quel/Sin'Dorei, Draenei of both sorts, and Nightborne all favor magitech, using the arcane or the light as a power source for their devices. They have all the benefits and problems listed in the magitech above, and advance in a non-standard way when compared to traditional technological advancement. Often they care less about weapon technology (exception: Lightforged) and more about utilitarian purposes, such as policing.

The Trolls- Zandalari most particularly- use their own form of magitech in the form of spiritbinding and loa blessings. Heavily religious societies, they care a lot less about advancement and more honoring their emphasize the warbeasts that are not coincidentally reflected in their loa- the triceratops, devilsaurs, raptors, saurids and the like. Their 'tech' as it combines loa-based voodoo and spirit magic into unique applications, such as the quasi-lasers on their battlebeasts backs.

Humans and Orcs are a bit on the pragmatic side of things when it comes to technology. Both can develop their own technology (Demolisher tank and gunships orc, airships and harvester golems humans) but also make heavy use of that of their the orcs, the main drivers of progress seem to be the Blackrock clan, which always had a industrial tradition.

The relationship between the Blackfuse and the Iron Horde(now Mag'har Clans) seem to be similar to the Gnome/Dwarf relationship (see below) with the goblins being the inventors, and the Mag'har responsible for producing and ironing out the inefficiencies of the tech.

The Forsaken are capable of invention outside their niche, and I will note they have their own radio system, but the focus of their effots is almost entirely on biological and chemical warfare. Almost all their technological knowhow goes into developing more WMDs to kill their enemies.

Lastly the Tauren(both kinds) and Kaldorei are staunch traditionalists who put their value in nature and balance and harmony. They do not view technological innovation as a necessity or even something that should be done, as Humans do. This does not mean that they don't- indeed, both are shown to deploy limited numbers of guns and cannons- but the adaption is more grudging.

On the other hand the Gnomes and Goblins love tech and many fans have publically asked 'why the hell do these races not control the setting already". This would be valid concern _if we ignored everything that defined these races._

 **GNOME & DWARF ENGINEERING**

The Gnomes are not a warmongering people by nature. They are a race of scientists, thinkers, and progressives. They, as a whole, seek knowledge and more importantly knowledge for the sake of improving the future. This is the race that refused to call upon its own allies for help in the Trogg invasion because it did not want to burden them while they were fighting the Legion/Scourge, that built the underground tram for Stormwind that I am pretty sure the latter couldn't afford (if so, Gnomergan either waved the fee or allowed a significant delay) and which has consistently helped its allies since.

Unless there is a need for it, tools of war are not progressive. They do not improve the lives or quality of the average Gnomergan citizen. Prior to the Second War the Gnomes of Gnomergan lived in peace and would have had zero need for instruments of war. Oh I am sure they researched the theoretical of it and I will note that after war did start becoming a problem for them their innovations made a dramatic change to the overall Western Alliance (gyrocopters, tanks and the like all come from Gnomish designs). Even now war is not a fundamental part of their culture and what designs they do make does suffer from the technobabble problem I mentioned earlier or is something only they really use among the alliance (like robots).

Moreover, though many of these designs they make are truly spectacular (lasers, shrink rays, teleporters) they do suffer from reliability and production issues. Namely, that these devices sometimes harm the user (though almost never as bad as skaven warpstone tech) and they suffer from either exotic materials and/or impossible directions. They also suffer from over-specialization and cost.

However, in researching those topic what I noticed was that many -almost all- of the dwarf war machines and weapons actually come from gnomish designs. This has led me to speculate the the relationship between Gnome and Dwarf engineers should be looked at together, rather than seperate. In other words think of Gnomish Engineers/Scientists as legions of minature Teslas, Edisons, and Da Vinchi's, each undeniably brilliant and capable of age defining inventions, but whose devices sometimes struggle to gain steam. This is because they are often so ahead of their time as to require as to not by understood by anyone else other than their assistants and contemporaries. For example no one could really understand Da Vinchi's tank and flying machine at the time, which is a reason why it took 400 years to make either.

The Dwarf Engineer is the William Joseph Hammer to the Gnome's Edison, someone whose job it is to look at the eccentric design and figure out what improvements can be made to reliability, efficiency and mass consumption/production. Usually it is a whole team working with the inventor, or a cadre of inventors, in a R&D Department, though Warcraft is known for its dime a dozen approach to eccentric inventors (Gelbin, Hobart etc). I will note that of the three inventors that I mentioned-Da Vinchi, Tesla, Edison- only Edison found success within his lifetime, despite many believing him to be less brilliant than the others. It is my belief that the fact he had whole departments of engineers working for him is a big reason behind that success, though other reasons do help account for it (lookup the long rivarly between Edison and Tesla for examples).

Thus I think, when looking at the formidability of the Alliance as a faction, the designs of the gnomes are less important than the schematics of the Dwarfs, for when a Dwarf is producing something, it is done so in mass (guns, tanks, gyrocopters, planes etc) . The Gnomes develop the prototypes, the dwarfs the finished product. More importantly, though Stormwind is shown to use gnomes quite a bit, it is only the designs of the Dwarfs that see widespread use among the most numerical of the Alliance armies.

TL:DR The Gnomes invent and the Dwarfs produce (generally speaking). If the Dwarfs can recreate it and improve it without design flaws, it is available for mass consumption by any Alliance faction that wants them (Tank, Gyrocopter etc). If they can't understand nor recreate the device, the device is limited to Gnomish laboratories and what they can produce and will usually only be found in gnomish hands.

 **PROFIT ENGINEERING-THE LIMITATIONS OF GOBLINS**

With the goblins their focus is on profit first and while one might think this might this would lend itself to increased R&D, one only has to look at the development cycle of experimental human weapons to see why this is not the case.

Simply put the development of these weapons has not been very profitable...at all. Often research into this projects spans decades and countless millions, if not billions, of dollars. Companies have lived and died to produce prototypes that, while impressive from a technological standpoint, often fail to live up as advertised. Moreover, almost all of these are funded by the government either directly or by companies hoping to woo contracts from the government, and not on their own.

This illustrates the advantages and disadvantages I see between federally and privately funded research projects. Federal projects have an advantage in that they need not bring immediate profit to justify those projects continued existence. Indeed, lasers and railguns haven't brought any profit in their entire development cycle, though other projects have. For example, DARPA's hands can be found in the development of the GPS, the stealth fighter, SIRI and the internet.  
However, where government struggles is efficiency. There is a long, storied history of projects continuing to receive funding long after they ate more than they are worth. The most infamous is probably the F-35, which is estimated to cost 1.5 Trillion over its lifespan. Lesser examples include the plasma or laser weaponry research. Note that while some detractors decry this inefficiency, others do claim that even such efficiency has its purpose, in that advancements learned during the process may lead to progress elsewhere or that breakthroughs can be achieved.

With private enterprises i.e. corporations (mostly) it is important to emphasize that so many of the inventions we love today- the smartphone, the kindle, the additional features added to cars every year, ALEXA etc- come from private enterprise. And while DARPA probably deserves more credit for the internet than any single other entity, it is also true that the various tech companies (Google, Facebook, etc) have all developed for further into what we know and love today. With private enterprise there is arguably more freedom to pursue your own startups, to fund someone's inventions etc. Most importantly, there is plenty of room here to make money- and lots of it- off your inventions.

However, the weaknesses of this system need to be honestly discussed, and that is the same profit claimed as a strength. All corporations exist to make a profit and inadvertently defines their research priorities. For example, the research into a working lasgun prototype has languished for decades yet is still pursued either by the government directly, or contractors who receive government money. If this was a corporate enterprise, it would have been long shutdown as stockholders demand a return on their investment and the company is unable to provide that.

Thus my opinion is that this corporate research tends to favor improvements on existing concepts and projects that results into rapid progress and the gradual raising of the tech level. However truly radical developments are either marginalized because of the fear of profit margins or the pet project of visionary CEOS, who must achieve incredible profits elsewhere to justify the expense (and even then must deal with sceptical shareholders). Again the CEO (or even Board of Directors) may be genuinely visionary individuals who want to leave a mark on human history, however the need for profit to continue their own existence has to emphasize marketable products on the short run.

Meanwhile government research programs like DARPA and contractors poleveault into the unknown, sometimes crashing into a unseen wall, sometimes landing and illuminating a new path that others follow. They recieve money all the same, courtesy of the taxpayers (though don't take this as a personal opinion- I am incredibly impressed by the work of these researchers).

Or, to use a real world example, DARPA is seriously willing to commission a study on Warp Drive travel that its own participants acknowledge will not result in applicable technology for a thousand years. To the stockholders of a corporation, this would be seen as a huge waste as it would not churn out profit . However, when the time comes that that technology is actually applicable, the DARPA study will help provide a basis and spur it along than if there no study.

I want to emphasize that I have no favorites in the government vs. private research battle. I think both have their uses, purposes and that our society would be worse off without either one of them. However, I do think these trends, while perhaps having a few exceptions, are remarkably consistent. The private sector could probably have invented the internet, but it would have had a different path and probably have taken longer. Again though I welcome any information otherwise that can help further understanding.

Okay, long diversion aside how does this apply to Goblins, you ask? First take away DARPA. Take away any government research, university or charity research agency. Add a maniacal brilliance to the whole race and an obsession with profit to put any modern capitalist to shame. Take away any sort of government regulation or oversight short of 'give me all your profit' Jastor.

Everything about their technological growth needs to be seen through that lense- every development needs to have a immediate profit margin and often a short-sighted one at that. If a Goblin designer tries to build a working laser gun, he needs to do so very fast or else his boss is going to loose patience with the funding. If a device requires rare materials and a particularly lengthy production process then what incentive is there for a company to invest in it, for it wouldn't be able to draw the widest possible profit.

As you can see by DARPA, the most brilliant inventions often take years or even decades to produce. In Before the Storm, the Goblin Kingpin Jastor Gallywix was getting impatient after just a month or two of research at the main Goblin/Gnome characters, even though during that the pair had invented a dozen useful devices and applications- however none of them were war related. Jastor immediately ordered the pair to discontinue research into anything other than war, for it would be war that would be profitable in the near future (also Sylvanas was breathing down his neck at this point).

All those brilliant enough to develop the gamebreaking tech quickly enough, most notably Hobart Grapplehammer, are also so brilliant that their designs are going to be near incomprehensible to anyone else, sort of like how Leonardo Da Vinchi designed schematics for a robot knight. Said individuals are also going to be more than a little nutty, such as how Grapplehammer- someone who regularly boasts of bending the laws of physics in that he can miniaturize an airbase into a box- tends to focus on rather inane inventions, like the microchicken.

But that said even he is a goblin and I will note that the only time miniaturized technology appears, either he is there or he specifically sold the device to the customer. This tells us that Grapplehammer is business savy enough to recognize, that if he sold the design, he would lose his ability to charge top dollar for the tech, as his competitors would try to undercut him. Which means he is likely the sole source of this remarkable goblin tech and a bad event could deny it to the rest of the world.

Marketability is key and goblins emphasize the big and flashy more than the dull utilitarian. They want to sell the product and to that end will lie, tell half-truths, tell 'truths from a certain point of view' or even the truth if it means they can make the deal. Big, flashy impressive devices and big explosions are a shock and awe tactic the way games often emphasize the flashiest and most epic moments of their gameplay.

Whereas the Gnomes do care somewhat about safety, to the Goblins this is the last possible concern you need to worry about. In fact it is often a detriment to them and, as shown by the dialogue of Twilight Skies, Goblin devices are often very offensively powerful, as goblins do put a sincere love on power, but they are definition of deathtraps.

Among modern armed forces today, there is often the bitter quip that your equipment comes from the lowest bidder. Among the goblins, not only is your equipment guaranteed to come from the lowest bidder, but it comes from a creative bidder willing to steal materials from other competitors, go into a scrap yard and harvest that even if its rusted, skimp on safety costs and the like.

This disregard for safety can be a problem even when it comes to the design and creation of devices, for the safety protocols are in place in our society to at least protect the scientists, engineers and testers. For the Goblins these don't exist and while they are shown to employ expendable unpaid interns as testers, this doesn't wholly take away the risk of a engineer or inventor dying during the experiment.

Moreover, all the worst excesses of the corporate realm- sabotage, theft, contract rigging, obsessive fees etc- are present and doubtlessly effect product development cycle. I will note that this desire for profit extends to every level of Goblin society, and if his boss told a intent to 'go take this and buy me some quality steel' he make take it and buy some iron before throwing some paint on it to make it look a little shinier. The rest gets pocketed.

TL:DR Goblins are undeniably brilliant, but disregard safety and long term projects for quick profit. This serves as a limit and overall check on their technological growth, though it must be noted that they are not in stasis and are advancing, just more slowly than they might otherwise.

 **OTHER CONSIDERATIONS**

Historically speaking, it must be noted that the invention of some new tech today does not mean its equipment tomorrow. Some of that is the process between development to prototype to mass production, which can span years usually at least to many decades

Others is that the army commanders are usually fairly conservative in their outlook, valuing the steady and the reliable over the new and unknown. While they are certainly not going to pass up a new advantage, there is going to be some reluctance to equipping the device in mass- and for good reason. The Tanks of World War 1, for example, often broke down and had all sorts of fueling/mechanical problems. If you are a commander and strategist, you would want to work with known variables rather than relying on this unproven, newfanged invention that could ruin your entire battleplan even before you engage the enemy!

Sometimes this is to retroactive detriment. Some military theorists postulate that the line infantry tactics used in the American Civil War (and possibly the Franco-Prussian, though I am less familiar with that war) were already made inefficient by the advancements of that day, yet were used anyway. The American Civil War remains the bloodiest war the US has ever fought and while it is true both sides counted as American causalities, even looking at only one side you accumulate more deaths than any war save World War 2.

Some of this is rooted in psychology, with the older generation(the generals) becoming more comfortable in the tried and true and less so in the new and unproven. I want to emphasize that 'old dogs' certainly can and do learn new tricks, and on a personal level I can cite my grandfather who could keep up with the youth in IT until the day he died. However from what research I have done, it does become easier as one becomes older to become set in your ways and show reluctance to learn, though I must emphasize again this is by choice, rather than mental ability (I am also aware that there are many nuances to this statement and exceptions that can be explored in depth by those who want to research psychology).

However I must stop myself from applying these traits rampantly to the other races, as this element of psychology and battle doctrine does vary between species. For example Gelbin Mekkatorque is probably in his sixties or seventies- yet is constantly bringing out new devices for battle. To the point where I have considered he might be doing it so fast as to be a detriment, that the gnomes are constantly switching between new prototypes before they can enter mass production.

On the other hand more traditional societies may stick to their tried and true far longer than otherwise, particularly if the need is not 100% clear. For example the Kaldorei have kept to the same combat methodologies and lifestyles for millennia, inspired in part by their reckless research of Queen Azshara and the Highborne. Ditto with the Tauren. Exceptions exist of course, and I will note that when they appear, the sorcerous Highborne are shown to have a great many Kaldorei apprentices. Guns and cannons can also be found in the Tauren/Kaldorei arsenals.

However the greatest historical consideration is battlefield need and performance. I.E. if something old is now totally ineffective now on the battlefield, nations will abandon it. For example, historically plate armor came to be abandoned as it became apparent it was unreliable against musket balls except at the longest ranges while Calvary was largely abandoned in the Western Front in World War 1 after a first few disastrous engagements (even if certain calvarly commanders continued to delude themselves about their effectiveness) including, in one case, British cavalry outright charging a German line defended by barbed wire and machine guns. It went about as well as you expect.

Of course even these truisms were not, in fact, universally true for even the clearly outdated can be useful in certain situations. In 1810 Napoleon ordered elements of his Calvary to wear plate cuirasses while calvary saw use even in World War 2, prominently in the Eastern Front, where fuel shortages helped instill their importance. Likewise in Warcraft even though at least two of their opponents use widespread rifles (three in BFA, with the Forsaken incorporating them), the Alliance footman still remains relatively effective and thus little demand to fundamentally change alter it as of now (the footman remains effective against most foes the Alliance faces and even against riflemen, the sheer amount of steel in the plate armor and shield likely allows survival at all but close ranges).

Related and key to this is the fact that the rampant magic in Warcraft can significantly lower the overall devastation of new technology. For example, let's compare Goblins to the Kaldorei. The latter has troops typically equipped with bows and glaives, rides cat calvary, has mystical forest allies and powerful nature wielding druids. The latter has mech suits that run either pilot wise or autonomously, riflemen that can be sometimes armed with rocket launchers, byplanes, technology such as heat seeking goggles, all sorts of cannons, demolisher tanks etc.

On an open field, there is no question the goblins would have a huge advantage. Yet, in the dense forests of Kalimdor, the Night Elves are able to ply their craft with deadly skill. Their archers are usually highly accurate and able to quickly move across terrain, taking accurate pot-shots at any time and even sniping goblins out of the older model's exposed cockpits. The relatively common Druids can call upon the wilds to unleash devastating weather(World of Warcraft Comic), have vines ensnare or immobilize the mechs (seen in the opening act of the Battle for Darkshore) or even use roots to pull the devices down into the earth and crush them (seen in the Li-Lil Stormstout comic, Pearl of Pandaria). Even the heat vision goggles are limited by range and production and can hypothetically be fooled.

That is not to say that technology is not a huge advantage for the goblins, it is and is responsible to what inroads the Goblins have made. But druidic magic and abilities give the Kaldorei the means to counter it without having to seriously develop their tech(which they do attempt, lightly).

Or, to give a more hypothetical invasion favoring the Horde if the Ironforge Dwarf clan launched, in mass, a invasion of Mulgore (and handwaving the logistical issues behind this invasion- let us assume they get to the Barrens without any problem) they would run into severe problems with the more archaic Tauren. Druids and Shamen would combine to wrack the weather to make flying unsafe, and enough mud to where steam tanks would sink (as what happened in Twilight Highlands). Ironforge Shaman might attempt to halt this, but they don't have the tradition or influence in Bronzebeard society that exists for the Wildhammer/Dark Irons, and there would be less of them. The Tauren Hunters, used to plains ambushs, would have a advantage the mountainous Dwarf ambushers would not and launch attacks on the supply lines doubling needed to provide the Dwarfs with fuel for their vehicles. And though Dwarf rifle lines would inflict great causialties, superior Tauren durability and speed would likely allow many to make it to Dwarf lines, where they would inflict great causalities.

I think a Just-Bronzebeard invasion of Mulgore would fail, though the Tauren wouldn't win in Dun Murough either.

Lastly, even if a faction is outmatched, all those in Warcraft have a cheat code; their allies. For example, the Goblins in Stonetalon brought in so many mechs that the Kaldorei had difficulty dealing with both them and the orcs, so they contacted the Gnomes to even the odds. Likewise in Azshara the newly joined Highborne and their apprentices were causing some trouble, so the Goblins talked to some Blood Elves to deal with it.

The Alliance systems of the Alliance and Horde are easily the greatest strength of Warcraft, for they get on light years better than equivalent Warhammer ones and their allies. It is likely without these effective systems Azeroth would have collapsed just as Warhammer did in the End Times.

However I would be remiss if I did not mention a potential weak point with this- the creeping tendency towards overspecialization and a reliance on allies that may not be always available.

 **CONCLUSIONS AND WARCRAFT TECHNOLOGY IN THE CHRONICLESVERSE**

I should emphasize that even as I defend it, I will not deny that the depiction of technology in Warcraft has many problems. Whenever technology is introduced it often has neither consequence nor continuity, with few exceptions such as the airship, as Warcraft refuses to address the long term ramnifications of their introduction.

For example, the Vindicaar spaceship is a prominent example. While its offensive abilities are overstated (it probably couldn't ground Orgrimmar to dust) its usage as a nigh-invulnerable troop carrier (for its shields are sublime). It can launch orbital drop pods, create a teleportation network that spans the globe and serve as a incredible light-based power source. Moreover it can be used (and, indeed, fits the Lightforged battle doctrine to be used as) a rapid insertion and assault vessel, and I would expect to see it be raiding, for example, the goblin production facilities in Azshara.

They also struggle when it comes to keeping technology consistent between portrayals. For example, the cinematic versions of BFA potrayed something relatively low tech, while the in-game versions did consistently shown tanks, gyrocopters and the like. While some discrepancies must be given allowances (for example, actually having thousands of troops on screen at once would likely crash the game in a trope known as 'space compression').

So with that said, I would like to talk about how I will portray these systems in the Chroniclesverse.

 **Craftmanship Production-** At this point in time, most production is not done by the assembly line, but by blacksmiths, enchanters, engineers and the like of varying skill and quality. Thus, if you want a bolt action rifle, you have to seek out one of the rare few specialists who knows how to craft the device, how to craft the materials (often rare) for the device, has contacts with those who can create or acquire the materials if they can't and may have more than a little economic incentive to keep the knowledge somewhat limited if you know what I mean. Oh, and their first customers are going to be the greatest of champions or most potent of Alliance/Horde organizations (SI:7, 7th Legion, Honorbound, Kor'kron etc) which does help limit the difusement of tech.

 **Surprisingly High level of common tech** \- While I want to emphasize that things like bolt action (or even cartridge) firearms are still rare, other things are relatively common among-st the Alliance/Horde such as zepplins, tanks, airplanes, cannons etc. I will not shirk from this, though I will include their limitations (such as fuel).That said, some stuff is pretty gamebreaking for example…

In game, cannons can fire at prodigious rates and while one might be tempted to argue this is just game mechanics, evidence shows this is not the case. The first is the "Old Blasty" questline, in which you are given cannons specifically described as antiques and proceed to load and fire them like normal cannons, rather than cannons anywhere else in the game. The second is the design of some of these cannons, such as the Horde ones shown on the shores of Lordamare Lake, which clearly show chain-fed devices that describe its ROF. The third is the Legion cinematic in which in the span of ten seconds two alliance cannons fire off a combined total of 6-10 rounds (depending if you count rate while it focused on Varian for two seconds), which serves to verify the game.

Now, I have no doubt that these..."Chain fed" cannons, for lack of better term, are relatively rare but they clearly exist. Moreover, I am confident that the average cannon is going to be a breechloader and significantly more advanced than the average Empire cannon, with a greater ROF.

 **Factories are OP But We Aren't Quite There Yet** \- As detailed in the analysis above, I don't really consider the introduction of X to be OP per say- what is really OP is the mass-production of X. It is not the laser rifle you should fear, but a assembly capable of creating the laser gun. Fortunately we are not quite there yet for most Warcraft factions

Now I am aware that one faction in Warcraft did have a verified assembly line, and that was the Blackfuse Company. They were able to mass produce first for Garrosh's True Horde then for the Iron Horde, bringing a people of tribes up to a quasi-industrial level in just two years (by comparison, it took ten years and millions of causialties during the dramatic industrialization programs of USSR/China, whereas other cultures that industrialized more naturally still often took decades). Unfortunately Garrosh's hordes suffered from being led by Garrosh, who decided to wage war against every conceivable possible foe at once and lost.

I am uncertain how much tech was lost in the destruction of the Blackfuse and how much the other Goblins have retained (to say nothing of the Gnomes, who do also seem to have some proto-assembly lines) . I am also aware that Kul Tirsas also has at least Foundary. At the start of this story no nation has achieved mass industrialization, even if they earned elements of this, though that might change as the story goes on.

 **Cultural Divides-** As was the discussion point for much of this, expect varying levels of tech (and magic!) shown in the different racial forces.

 **Impactful Tech** \- Unlike Blizzard, I do no plan to skimp out on the implications of major technological advancements, some of which, even though they are rare, have the potential to dramatically alter the world. For example, just as the goblins have at least proto-assembly lines (I call it 'proto' here as I am not entirely sure the full extent of reliable industrialization they have) the Gnomes have a huge edge in robots and actually have, in canon, at least one fully sentient and self-adaptive A.I. This AI, A.I.D.A, appears in Uldum, where it actually orchestrates the deaths of its creators because they fell under the Tomb Curse and became corrupted.

Expect these fantastical tech elements -AI, genetic engineering (like with Gilbins), factories- to be all explored in my story, though with limitations acknowledged (like with the super-intelligent AI having only a limited amount of technology to seize and manipulate).

Expect a core question to arise too as the story goes - Will these technomarvels lead to a Golden Age of Science and Technology...or a Dark Age?

 **Sounding off on Formations** \- One of my major disagreements with other interpretations of Warcraft/Warhammer is that the use of infantry formations- i.e. massed infantry- should be a breadwinner in Warcraft. The evidence I have collected- from real life history, from the lores of other universes, even that of Warcraft and Warhammer itself- suggest that while there are situations where massed infantry formations could be advisable, the sheer abundance of certain technology (tanks, planes) along with magic users limit the potential of infantry. Or, in other words, while you might see some state soldier better able to deal with a charging orc grunt, it is just as likely those condensed troops are going to do terrible against mages that incinerate all those within 10 meters of a given impact, or steam tanks/shredders that simply charge on through venting steam all the way.

The problem isn't that this kind of stuff doesn't exist in Warhammer, its that it is so much more common in Warcraft. I have personally counted more magic users in small skirmishes than all but the largest battles of Warhammer, while technology like the Steam tank is limited to just seven weapons while Warcraft deploys theirs on every continent/conflict.

 **Final (Unrelated) Note: Hippogryph Numbers**

Hippogryth Numbers: "Hundreds" does seem like an absurdly high number and I feel compelled to explain my reasoning. First, I will note that both the Sentinel military and major towns are shown to make heavy use of hippogrypths to both ferry around personnel and fight military operations. While no Sentinel base exists in Val'shara,there does exist many towns and druid enclaves that would have at least some hippogryths for riders. I am asssuming they have anywhere from high single digits to at most twenty, depending on location, as you would need multiple spare hippogryths on hand in case multiple urgent dispatches had to be sent out. I would assume that Jarod would argue he would need to appropriate some of them for the war effort.

However, the greatest source of Hippogryphs would be those living in the wild, who are, as earlier stated, all sentient, can understand Darnassian and honor Cenarius. As the invaders would be desecrating the province with their plagues and harvesting other portions for food, it is likely that the Hippoygryphs would feel aggrieved by their actions and either attack out of rage (and get killed after inflicting some causalities) , the more intelligent would go to the Night Elves. They are shown to be receptive to such alliances before, most notably in Feralis (Forces of Nature: Hippogryphs quest).

I decided to base my numbers of Hippogryths off of another apex predator: the Northern Mountain Lion, choosing this species as it is has somewhat recovered from the hunting of the previous centuries. These animals have wide territories, are the apex predators where they live, solitary and are reclusive like the hippogryth. According to various state websites, cougars are estimated to have range from 7-6000 Colorado/Oregon, to 1-2000 (Arizona/Nevada). As Val'shara is noted for being extremely verdant, I think we can go with the higher end here.

Of course Val'shara is big, and Tamurkhan's horde's presence would only be felt through a portion of it. Still, between calls by druids to join against the invaders, their own experiences and intelligence I think hundreds joining up would be reasonable. However, these hippogryphs have not had training yet and the Kaldorei wouldn't have time but to provide the very basic and thus their maneuvering would be lesser compared to the trained Sentinel hippogrypths.

I kind of view the hippogryphs as functioning similar to the feral dragons in Temeraire- beings ordinarily not rideable by the Night Elves, but can be called up and bargained with in dire need, even ridden. However, while trained Hippogryths have a intrinsic bond with their owner, the wild ones might take the Night Elven riders orders as 'suggestions'.

* * *

 **AUTHOR RESPONSE**

I am not going to lie, this deadline was difficult to make. Tragically, one of my beautiful dogs was taken from the world in a hit and run incident this week. The only bittersweet positive I can mention is that the death appears to have been instant, rather than a suffering one. Still the hit and run – taking place on a deadend road a mile from a major lane, where children walk freely and where no one had any right to speed or not pay attention- is a reminder of the cruelty or carelessness- or careless cruelty- of the world. I certainly have many regrets in this case, for I have had both had trouble with his screeching and balancing the needs of several animals (four dogs and a cat) that I believe led me to spend less time with the boy than I should have.

Tragedy breeds inspiration I guess, and I'll be tributing this chapter and a few other chapters to you Gizmo.

Now onto the author responses. First I must thank you all for them, they are very motivating.

 **reality Deviant**

Well the SI:7 will take part, but the full military might of Stormwind is limited by travel distances and the limitations Blizzard set into place about portals.

I do have plans regarding both Highmountain and Bradensbrook, so stay tuned there, but rest assured I haven't forgotten them!

 **dasgun** 000000

 **Nikhil Ramanathan**

Thank you, I am trying to make it so both players deploy logical moves, though it must be said that they both have their personality quirks.

Indeed it was! I hope to start Practical Guide soon, actually! As for Cenarius and Ysera, I have already taken them into account.

 **Sabaton Metallica**

It is times like this that I wish I could write faster. That said, expect the Kaldorei codex to make clear some of the differences in combat style and outlook.

 **Iadum**

Thank you for the compliments!

"Not being as hopeless as it should"

To be fair this is how all mortals operate, in both settings. Both Warhammer Chaos and the Burning Legion are explicitly multiversal entities and commonly boast of such yet, when Azeroth or Malus fights them, they pretty much tune the daemon's claims out as background noise.

While I don't want to overhype Azeroth's morale abilities, I will note that they seem to have some wierdly high tolerance for them. I will note that canonically, they take Sargeras's stabbing of the planet with only mild discomfort a month later(in Before the Storm), something that, in the real world, may well have caused massed panic and calls of the biblical End Times if a enormous planet sized Lucifer did the same. Other than it helping to cause the Azerite War, there does not seem to be any long term psychological trauma for the survivors of this event. Theories I have seen include the inundation of magic (including calming Light magic), the frequency of such world-en ding events resulting in diminishing fear, cultural influences or later magical energies being leached off the titan Azeroth. Or all of the above.

 **Guest 1 June 22**

It is mostly Kurgan and to be honest I have always been a bit confused by GW's depiction of Kurgan. For example, the force in Tamurkhan's Forgeworld depiction is not mounted in mass, nor are those in the End Times Archaon forces (who would hold Kurgan more than anyone else, since Kurgan are the most common of Northmen). In fact, the majority of those present resemble the marauders unit. Books like Blood for the Blood God also show both mounted and non-mounted Kurgan tribes, so I would guess there are a bit of both in Warhammer.

If I had to provide a lore justification for this (instead of a gameplay, where they seem to want everyone to have basic infantry as a core unit) all Kurgan tribes contain horses, but there are not enough to go around, as the lands of the Kurgan are often chaos saturated which might kill many lesser breeds. This limits the horses to the more powerful and potent riders for most clans, whereas the rest can mass in large Warbands for combat.

For part 2 some of what you refer to is Nurgle's Rot, which isn't on Azeroth just yet. As for general disease mechanics (and this comes from my notes on the Skaven and Nurgle) I have unofficially split their categorization into two.

STRATEGIC — Strategic plague use is the utilization of diseases in a manner that would be applicable in the real world. Essentially imagine if someone deliberately infected him or herself with a particularly virulent virus like smallpox or Ebola and let it loose. The disease would have a somewhat high incubation rate (to ensure that it spread to the maximum amount of people before the subject died), high virulence rate and likely an abnormally high lethality rate (courtesy of Pestilens disease makers manipulating it so). However while very potent, it is still effected by the basic rules of science, health and medicine. Healthy, clean, vibrant individuals are going to have a greater resistance (though likely not immunity) to it than those who live in dirty squalor, courtesy of their lifestyles. Anything that helps decrease disease risk in the real world (medicine, sleep, diet, exercise etc.) will help here, even if it is only marginally. Magical means of healing have more opportunity to be effective and those that are traditionally immune to disease (undead) are still immune against this type of disease.

As a mundane example in "The Butcher's Beast" a Great Sworders regiment that was noted to be unique in washing its uniforms after every battle was stated to lose less men to plagues than any other unit. Just the simple act of _doing laundry_ was able to reduce the death rate. Magical protection and healing, too, can help in dealing with plagues. Just like in the real world some diseases are more potent than others.

 **TACTICAL** — In the tactical phrase the masters of disease seek to deploy these diseases quickly and rapidly on the battlefield, to ensure near instantaneous effect and death. To that end they mix all diseases heavily with warpstone, the magical stuff of chaos that greatly increases the potency of the disease. Thus diseases can now kill within moments rather hours or day and can even affect creatures not normally capable of being infected, like the undead. While potent on the battlefield, these plagues usually have a specific range around the caster they cannot cross, lack in incubation period (so less long term virulence) and can still be effected by the constitutions of their enemy, however magical means of healing must be instantly applied to have an effect (if they have an effect).

Now in regards to the Kaldorei….

No one has been hit by a plague spell yet, so we are only talking about standard plagues now. And, in this regard, the Elves are at their peak physical health, bathe in blessed moonwell waters quite frequently (blessed by Elune), may have stronger than human constitutions, and have on hand druidic healers and priestesses. In other words, they are as equipped against disease as the best in Warhammer.

In regards to Question three there will certainly be lots of long term affects…..

 **Guest 2 (?) June 22**

The Satyrs are still imprisoned, as they were until the Nightmare woke up.

 **Thehappyvampire**

I both appreciate and enjoy your detailed analysis! You are, of course, spot on regarding the comparative comradery of the Alliance vs. the oozing internal contempt of Tamurkhan. And indeed, something like the Alliance is a bit of a surprise to the order factions of Warhammer, who are less cooperative, however any that doubt the Alliance are going to find its record is well proven.

 **Carre**

2\. Yay more book suggestions to add! Still on Codex Alera myself.

3\. You may see one of those happen. Alliance-Horde meetings though are as rare as a full solar eclipse though.

Second Post

I do remember Beastslayer and indeed, Chaos cults could-theoretically- be any one of those. However, living in a magical universe can make it a little harder. For example, if demon hunters can see the magic right inside you, and presumably the Mark of Chaos would flare up like a flashbang. A Priest of the Light could, to test you, ask you to hold a holy object. A non-corrupted Azeroth warlock (and most of them aren't) could sense the demon taint right on you, and wonder if you are one of them…or _**them.**_

2 & 3\. I too wish I could right faster. Right now I just want to finish Tamurkhan by the end of summer, hopefully.

 **Dios**

Hah I am glad someone got that reference!

Lunara shall appear!

 **MadFrogg**

Thank you!

 **Hakuryuu**

Chaos is bleeding, now more than then, but they still have a lot of blood to spare. The Kaldorei have struck a big final blow, but now their string runs out, and they will need to either fight or flee from one of their most sacred places.

I will also mention that, storywise, the other brothers are undertaking their conquests concurrently with Tamurkhan.

Wait and see (though it will be a lot of waiting) to see what I do with the other Malus factions. Rest assured I will be as detailed here as I am there. The East will be explored eventually, though I realize people want me to explore interactions with the more detailed lands (like the Empire) first.

Sorry for the brevity here, but I am planning a larger post about Chaos cults in the future. As for Xavius, he does fail or get out-schemed a lot, though so far he has only failed upwards, as he himself points out.

 **True Skull**

Just started playing it! Haven't gotten to Mechagon yet, but enjoying Naztajar.

 **Evowizard25**

Well let's consider this. In my previous entry, I speculated that the various means of magical healing and anti-disease of the Alliance/Horde can dramatically limit causalities. Specifically, using the Civil War as an example, I speculated that union causalities might be reduced from 334,000 to 51,000 if all magical healing effects were applied to both diseases and wounds- a 84% reduction!

Lorewise, the Alliance canonically lost around 50,000 in Northrend where the Horde lost a undetermined lesser amount- let's just give them 40,000 for argument's sake. So 90,000 deaths. If this had been under historical conditions(meaning no magical healing), the Alliance/Horde would have lost a combined total of 585,000 in a single year of war. For comparison, this would have been one of the single bloodiest wars in history and perhaps the single bloodiest year prior to the industrial age.

Thanks to this healing, the Alliance/Horde are able to save more of their troops than historically possible which, combined with populations of their various races, have meant they haven't been drained of troops just yet.

Also I will note I have only given the population of a backwater province so far.

 **Reed**

Hopefully I can finish Tamurkhan by the end of the summer

 **Eva-Saiyan**

He is still here!

Unfortunately I cannot promise when the next peice will be done, only that I am hard at work on it.


	13. Emerald Scheming

Like the hum of gnomish machinery, the war fell back into a predictable, if monotonous pattern.

Hide.

Fire.

Flee.

The Kaldorei's rope was tightening as the Nurglite horde rapidly approached the Temple of Elune, yet at this juncture they still had room to maneuver. To harass, bleed and drain.

And so the same themes were played out. Using shadowmeld, the Kaldorei would hide until the Northmen were close; fire a few arrows off in ambush and then retreat. Rinse and repeat.

The Northmen, of course, were familiar with this methodology by now. Their impotence rankled no less. Point of fact, it bothered them more now than it had before, for the Kaldorei had struck actual blows now rather than little pinpricks. They were infuriated past the point of bloodlust at the elves- but nearly just as angry at their commander as well.

If their commander had truly been blessed by the gods, why hadn't they sent him a warning? Why hadn't they given him the power to swat the hippogrypths out of the air like the annoying gnats that they were? Why had the Maggot Lord led them into a conflict that offered no prospect of glory or loot or divine recognition?

Such whispers had followed Tamurkhan since the onset of the expedition, lurking in the background like some dangerous and hidden beast. Now, however, the whispers had grown predictably louder and more threatening, the curses being made even within earshot of Tamurkhan's devoted Nurglites. Fights had broken out between those still devoted to Tamurkhan and the dissidents and many were slain.

Had Omedakhan been in this position, he would have simply descended upon the dissidents in a frenzy of violence, spilling enough blood to fill a lake. Had Koblakhan been in this position, he would have whispered in sensual, hypnotic tones and just like that half of the rebels would turn on the other half in a desperate attempt to get back their lord's approval. Had Subotakhan ("may his soul rot forever in the Afterworld") been both alive and there, he would have merely incorporated the rebels into his inscrutable plans, wrapping them in threads upon threads until they strangled themselves.

Tamurkhan's solution was as equally fitting with his patron as his brothers. Though the Ogre in him cried out for base violence, the Nurglite has other ideas. In the dead of a single night Tamurkhan had his agents plant magical fetishes around the camp of dissident tribe.

Next, Tamurkhan gathered up all his plague sorcerers and, at the moon's equinox, completed a The Grimoire of 77 Plagues, a ritual that brought horror and death upon the dissident's camp. Ranging from the relatively harmless, like the common cold, to chicken pox and influenza and a dozen venereal diseases, the plagues flooded the camp like onrushing waters. The tribe shrieked in agony, despair and panic, their bodies overrun by pestilence beyond what they could ever heal from. The wisest among them recognized such, and these turned upon themselves or one another in order to achieve a quick end. Others sought succor in what they were foolish enough to believe were their allies, like Sayl or Drazhoath.

It was a suicidal endeavor. Sayl knew that allowing the disease to spread to his own would be ruinous and had his archers fill the affected with arrows upon sight. Drazhoath, meanwhile, poured scorn publicly on the notion of any true son of Zharr getting sick, even as he mumbled under his breadth protective can-trips. Instead the Chaos Dwarfs feared a loss of assets from the diseases that would inevitably be spread among their cargo, and so they too shot the afflicted on sight. Of course even these quarantine measures had limits, and many unaffiliated Northman sported a nasty cough the next couple of days, while the dwarfs stubbornly stifled them.

With nowhere else to go the desperate and despondent turned to Tamurkhan- exactly as was intended. The tally of his infestinal legions grew those couple nights while his chief rivals were sent a deadly message about the true source of Tamurkhan's power. Tamurkhan may have deemed it too costly to move on Sayl or Drazhaoth directly but he wasn't afraid to punish other dissidents.

Moreover, as an added bonus, the expected Kaldorei raids had been light that night, limited mostly to the furthest (and most expendable) outlying camps, as the Kaldorei themselves had been reluctant to get anywhere near such a diseased concentration.

However, this was nothing more than a stopgap measure, an herbal salve applied to a festering wound. The muttering had not died, merely dimmed, and would rise again as certain as the tides. Even his own Nurglites were not immune to it, and the possibility was distinct that some other champion of the Grandfather could raise himself up to challenge Tamurkhan for ascendancy. The Maggot Lord had already sent two such individuals on long range 'scouting' missions, trusting the forest elves to take care of what he was loath to do directly for fear of incurring divine disfavor.

Inspiration could come from the oddest places, and ideas began to take root within the Plague Lord.

* * *

In another part of the forest, a very different idea was rooted, grown and then harvested.

For between Lorathil and the Temple of Elune stood a long, steep plateau, a lingering edifice from when the servants of the titan had raised this part of the land up as a piece of their unknowable plans. A dozen minor roads, formed over years of hard work, connected the natural plateau with its lowland counterpart. However, of those only one road- the long winding road that ran across the width of the province- was large enough to support the evil Dwarfs' siege engine train. It would be here- at Amanas Road (literally "Seeker's Road") that Jarod would make his stand and try to delay Tamurkhan as much as possible.

Jarrod Shadowsong had sentinels waiting at each of the minor roads, in case the enemy was to make a go at them, though he judged the chances of the enemy discovering such arteries to be remote, as the sentinels had done an exemplary job at killing the scouts of the invaders. He had patrols of hippogryph riders and storm druids in the air in case the enemy dragons came out, though Jarrod suspected the enemy would save them for the culmination, as the Kaldorei had the numbers to overwhelm the dragons in the air. The real battle would be at the main road, and Jarod had spent the last few days 'fortifying' the height of that road.

'Fortifying' being a word that well deserved the parenthesis marks around it. This was not a fortification as other races, like humans or dwarfs, would recognize it. The Kaldorei did not have the aptitude for mining and crafting artifices of stone, and the idea of butchering trees to create a wood wall was morally offensive to the Night Elves. Jarrod didn't like it but, in truth, he recognized that his race never really had an aptitude in such things, even in the old days of Azshara's Empire.

Instead, what functioned as a 'defense' were really mechanisms of slowing the enemy down. Vines dripping with poison lay across portions of the road, along with potholes that contained plants which would, upon contact with feet, pierce and trip with deadly spines that emitted venom corrosive to skin. Jarrod had once seen it reduce a Twilight Cultist's foot into a something that vaguely resembled a limb that could be found in a Stormwind Butcher's shop.

His allies had provided help as well, and during the previous night no less than seven strange tunneling machines had entered the Temple grounds, tearing apart grass and no few trees in the process. Before the Kaldorei could react out of heated passion Jarrod hastily met the Dark Iron 'ambassadors' and loudly praised their coming. These Dwarfs had, among other aid, brought eighty of their special landmines, which were planted at the base of the road.

At the climax of the road was a field of seemingly innocuous flowers. An obvious trick that Jarrod suspected his foe would be more than wary of, for at a druid's command three fourths of them would emit choking, sneezing pollen while the remaining quarter would uproot themselves to lash and flay with venomous vines. All of this before raised earthworks at the end, the result of a hectic couple nights shoveling, which would give the archers a better shooting platform and force the invaders to waste time smoothing it over if they claimed it so that their artillery could cross.

An Ironforge Dwarf would have rolled his eyes at such 'defenses' for they were designed only to bleed and slow, not stop. An Ironforge Dwarf would have had a proper wall at the top where cannon and snipers and ranks of riflemen could rain down fire below. Jarrod knew this even though he never commanded a Dwarf army, knew that his defenses were inferior and sighed at the tendencies of his kin.

In truth, this was not Jarrod's preferred strategy, a point what he was more than a little annoyed at. He would have liked to utilize his shamans to collapse the land bridge entirely in a stroke that would cripple the invasion and forced the enemy commander to make one of two awful decisions. Either he would have to use the myriad of lesser roads to scale the plateau and leave his artillery behind or take a week or two long detour through the jungle to arrive at a slope large and gentle enough to construct a road capable of supporting artillery. The latter strategy would delay the invader's arrival to the temple of Elune by weeks and allow Jarrod's force to coordinate with the Darnassian reinforcements to further whittle down the enemy through raids.

It was stupidity, in Jarrod's mind, that saw this tactic undone. The first was admittedly of his own, for he had not thought of the idea until the Dark Irons had come- and unfortunately, what shaman of theirs were present seemed to have a greater love of fire than earth manipulation (indeed, to Kaldorei eyes, the newcomers seemed more akin to pyromaniacs). He had been told, by a Kirin Tir mage assisting his force that Dalaran could probably gather up enough Draenei and Wildhammer shaman in a couple days through their portal network.

However, that led to the second problem...

At the mere suggestion of the idea, his Kaldorei adjutants (barring the Moonguard, Elyiana) had reacted with utter horror. To unleash such a strategy, they said, would be to condemn thousands of square miles of forest and their inhabitants to death. Even if the Kaldorei along the path were evacuated in time, that would leave millions of forest denizens to the invader's depredations. Which, of course, meant their death or worse.

No, they pointed out that the Kaldorei reinforcements were due to arrive within days, and they would be able to disembark well before the barbarians meet the temple. Then between Jarrod's ingenuity and the might of Darnassus, they would lay the invading force low in a single mighty blow. Perhaps the Sentinels would take more losses than they would under Jarrod's 'heartless' strategy, they said, but they would not be abandoning all that the Kaldorei held sacred to do so.

Jarrod reiterated that this strategy would guarantee Kaldorei victory, for their foes' army was already showing signs of strains. Delaying the invasion further would turn those cracks into fissures and allow their army to fracture entirely. And if they didn't, than the reinforcements from the mainland would ensure that the enemy was bled completely dry. Moreover, they would not risk the temple to the invaders.

The cold logic did not matter.

"Monstrous" they called his plan. They would not countenance any notion that would inflict such widespread suffering on nature, and refused to be swayed by any of his arguments regarding strategy or practicality. In fact, the more he did so, the more they gave him looks of horror and disgust. They insisted he could hold the pass, inflict all sorts of punishment as the enemy tried to push their point, and then once the mainland force arrived could swiftly and utterly destroy the enemy.

The invaders were not the only ones with crises of command and unity. He eventually dropped the point, though the sub-commanders had been distant to him since. Jarrod bitterly supposed he ought to be grateful news of his ideas did not leak to troops at large yet.

* * *

Tamurkhan knew what his rival was doing of course. Oh the raids had claimed a few of his spellcasters, but he still had more than enough to set them to scrying ahead. He and his saw what lay ahead and did nothing about it.

Oh he could have, certainly. He could have warned his men, prepared them for the traps that were positioned ahead, saved lives in such a manner. Such a prospect was never considered. The Chaos Lord still had over seventy thousand men- what difference would another couple hundred make? After all, Tamurkhan had sacrificed millions during his long lifespan to get to where he is now.

No, the Chaos Lord cared nothing for their lives at all. Instead, his mind was fixated on the disposition of his enemy, for not once in his millennia-old lifespan had Tamurkhan encountered a force quite like his foes.

From atop his moving yurt, hauled along the road by a six times six pestilent steeds, Tamurkhan peered into his fetid seering pool, ruminating on the images his scryers had collected.

The enemy force was primarily elf, that was for certain, and while the scryers had not gotten particularly close to the enemy elves, erring on the side of caution, the term 'Kaldorei" was heard often enough to identify it as a name for them. However, scattered throughout the elven masses were handfuls of humans and, more surprisingly, dwarfs.

The former could be expected, as elves did sometimes hire human mercenaries. Yet even the Plague Lord, isolated as he was from the great empires of Ulthuan or Karak Ankor, was more than aware of the infamous rivalry between stunted and fae folk. Though such grudges did not always come to blows the mere presence of the other race should contribute to a tense atmosphere, filled with resentful stares, muttered curses and louder insults. Violence would not be uncommon when the two races had to directly interact and if a mutual camp was able to function at all, it would be because humans acted as intermediaries.

That wasn't the case here. Dwarfs and elves could be seen talking amicably with humans and each other, even assisting in the same tasks willingly. A few were observed wary of one another, distant and shy, though they would interact without qualms when forced. However, that was far from the greatest shock.

Mutants roamed freely in the enemy camp. Grotesque combinations of faun and she-elf capered and strolled throughout it all, the humans and dwarfs looking on the creatures as fondly as they did the elves. Every essence of the abominations screamed foul sorcery and one of the sorcerers whose eyes lingered on them disturbingly long noted that even their droppings immediately fertilized into plant matter.

Magic itself was wielded as frequently as one might wear clothing, and no one in any of the images appeared even a little upset by it. Even in Chaos camps magic was not so universally welcomed, and those who wielded the breath of the gods were looked upon with awe and fear. Even the Indish, with the fantastical god-men and paradoxical half-alliances between man and beast, did not nearly seem so alien. At least _those_ double-damned beastkin shared their god-blessed cousin's antipathy towards man.

At last Tamurkhan recognized this land- perhaps this planet- for what it was: the hidden bastion for some renegade Dark God. The Plague Lord sneered at the images of the rapidly approaching fortifications and aligned troops. Only a weakling deity would utilize such tactics and adherents! Hell, even the treacherous sons of Tchar showed more valor for at least they would stand and fight (most of the time).

The Plague Lord saw the existence of these folk as an affront not only to his own deity, but to all of the Dark Brothers. It would be his pleasure to show them all his Grandfather's mercy.

* * *

 _She Stared._

 _Stared until she was cross-eyed and could feel her head starting to ache. Stared until she could feel her anger at both the other creatures around her and herself, for being around it and not, at least, speaking out._

 _Before her, was a patch of wood shaved so thin it could not possibly hold any life. Yet the other observer's_ _ **pretended**_ _it did, placing wood twisted and perverted into a pretend-creature on top of it. No,_ _ **pretend-creatures**_ _. She was given to understand that each carving was pretended to be a whole host of other creatures, whether that is friend or foe, and and that they moved around these imaginary creatures across the wood-skin, also pretended to be something else._

 _And that, through some magic, these pretensions came to influence reality. She had seen through the eyes of birds the movement of elves across lands that were pretended on the wood-skin._

 _To be truthful, she looked at the wood-skin, dyed in strange manners, with the same revulsion that the Kaldorei had once looked at the Dark Trolls who had come clothed in the former's skin, so that they could partake in the moon goddess' blessing. Moreover, the wood-skin was human-made, meaning that it wasn't even taken with the pretense of consent that defined Kaldorei artifices. They had murdered a tree to make a tapestry of its skin, and she could not see why this was not as revolting as what the Dark trolls did long ago, or the Scourge when they defiled the bodies of all that they slew._

 _She had given allowances to those who wore the skin of animals to keep themselves warm- that was using life to preserve other life. But this..._

 _It was unnecessary._

 _Her self-hatred rose once more, outpacing her resentment towards others._

 _And yet it was necessary for_ _ **her**_ _to see it, to understand its vile mysteries. Her instincts told her she needed to understand, and so she tried to._

 _It was these pretensions that allowed the Elves and the other so-called 'intelligent' races of Azeroth to dominate the natural world. Each passing season, a little more of it was hewn away, until one day all the world would be a lifeless desert._

 _She was not the only one still here. Jarod Shadowsong had paused from whatever internal reflections to notice that she was still here. He grumbled_

 _"Not many of your kind care for military planning."_

 _That was true- almost all of her kind frolicked in perpetual bliss, with only the briefest moments of apprehension. They truly lived in the moment and gave only the barest of glances towards understanding death, fear or other such mortal turmoil._

 _She aimed to keep it that way._

 _Affecting idleness, she picked up one of the wood pretend figures and twirled it in her fingers, suppressing her revulsion at its touch._

 _"I am a breed of my own, Commander Shadowsong. If I am to lead my sisters into battle tomorrow, I wish to understand where I am supposed to be, and where you are supposed to be."_

 _That was true. She freely conceded that these intruders were viler than the normal humans, and infected with strange contagions. Like demons their presence tainted the forest, and for that they must be burned away._

 _Yet it wasn't the only reason._

 _The Elf-Lord sighed, his expression wary "And, I suppose, to condemn me for my heartless suggestions?"_

 _Surprised, she shook her head vigorously. In another context she might indeed have been furious but in this one_

 _"Not at all, commander. I actually find your honesty refreshing. Not many of your race would admit prioritizing their survival over the forests'. Yet you alone are able to do so- and quite shamelessly too."_

 _The old elf frowned_

 _"Had it not been for my people placing the needs of the forest over military concerns, I would not have to battle tomorrow."_

 _She laughed then, rich and melodic. Placing the wood figure back on the table, she gazed one more time at the map before turning to the commander_

 _"You have surpassed your tenth millennium now, Jarod Shadowsong, and yet you seem to be as blind to a simple truth now as you were then; you are good at this."_

 _She vaguely waved her hands at the abominable, pieced-together patchwork of wooden corpses that they called a 'table'._

 _"Your people know it even if you do not. They believe you will win even if you do not, and your plan would poison their sense of victory. Arrogance moves them to reject your plan, not concern for the wilds._ _ **It's their**_ _ **nature**_ _. If they thought for a moment that you would lose... "_

 _She paused, staring at him directly in the eyes_

 _"Be sure that you do not."_

* * *

It would be another day before the Chaos Hordes would begin to arrive on the horizon, trickling in like ants- first in lone packs, eager outriders spoiling for some kind of battle, any battle. Then, in massed groupings that stretched entire leagues across the surface of Val'sharah, a sight that made even trained Sentinel veterans- from their vantage point at the top of the pass- clutch tightly at their bows. Those who were there noted that only at Mount Hyjall did the Kaldorei face a larger horde.

Eventually, a solid black, mile-wide snake formed from the tip of the road to the very horizon, all filled with braying, roaring or cursing northerners.

Of course, the very first Northerners to reach the road had, upon catching sight of the Kaldorei at the top, immediately charged. Of course they saw the hundreds of suspicious holes between them and the Kaldorei, of course they saw the strange vines and flowers and the fact that the awaiting Kaldorei were armed to the absolute teeth. Of course any rational mind would have been dissuaded by this, and realized it was an obvious killing ground. A rational mind could have held in check their impulses until after the clear dangerous terrain was dealt with.

Yet if the scions of Chaos had rational minds or good impulse-control, then they wouldn't have fallen to the dark whims of their most base desires. Inside each was the arrogance of those who believed that this was their story, and that everyone else was just living it. And of those, the ones who traveled foremost of the great horde was the most blood-frustrated.

So instead those first brutes who espied the elves roared in bloodlust and hate. Knowing of the arrow storm to come, they braced their shields high, while charging in step with one another. A few watched their steps, cognizant of the suspicious mounds though they were, like the rest of their kind, as ever convinced of their own superiority and cosmic importance. More importantly, those behind the initial wave were either entirely unaware of the potential traps ahead and were following the passions of the crowd or- for a minority- entirely _aware_ , and simply wanted someone else to step on it first.

Either way the first of the strange Dark Iron mines were triggered. Northmen fell through like it was a thin sieve over a water pit and not solid earth. The troubled men tumbled in up to their waists before _something_ down below pulled them deeper. Impossibly loud crunching and screams of agony could be heard followed by low groan that many thought resembled a monster's belch. Moments later an enormous red geyser of blood, visceral and gore erupted from the earth.

Not even a dozen men had fallen for the traps but, such was the incredible violence that even the most battled-fevered paused in their efforts. They eyed the slushing blood pools, eyed the hundreds of mounts up ahead and, for the first time in this campaign, they held themselves back.

And behind them, tens of thousands more began to gather.

* * *

Gazing upon the winding, mile long road Tamurkhan couldn't help but smile- even his drug-addled brother Koblakhan would have recognized such an obvious trap. The path ahead was a several hundred meter long curving slope that no doubt served as the primary highway of this province. Though his countrymen all too often looked at roads as anathemas Tamurkhan understood their importance- in the long distant past he had campaigned with his father in the lands of Zharr and proto-Cathay, after all.

Between thirty to forty meters wide at its narrowest point, this was, according to his seers, the only road up the plateau capable of supporting his war beasts and Zharr daemon-devices. Other paths existed (that were no doubt guarded) but they were, at best, capable of supporting ten men-abreast.

It would take several days of careful maneuvering to bring his entire force up this slope, an act that would strain the already impatient horde. And yet it was still his best option. The fact caused Tamurkhan to fume hot enough that several of his nearby plague champions impeccably stepped back- he had already beaten to death one fool who drew his ire earlier today.

He was doing that more and more lately- his already poor emotional control, brought upon by his Ogre host-body, highlighted by the increasing frustrations of the campaign.

He wanted to do so badly again. It would serve as a needed relief, as the Plague Lord recognized that he had arrived at a point with no good options ahead.

If he attempted to storm the highway, the Night Elves would no doubt destroy it as soon as his troops were on top of it, because they had always acted in such a cowardly, tiresome manner. The Night Elven position was out of range of the Zharr machines and even bringing the Chaos Dwarf machines up to the tip of the path to give them that range brought its own problems. Drazhoath had reluctantly admitted that, given the difficult angle of the slope and the potential of the enemy spellcasters to use their winds as a defensive measure, that there was the slightest chance of their ammunition going wide and damaging the bridge (which, in Dawi Zharr speak, meant there was a very real chance of this happening).

The other paths were killzones that would strip his force of the numbers needed while giving the Kaldorei an easy position to rain down countless arrows. Oh Tamurkhan had no doubt he could take them of course, but it would take a week or two to widen the path enough to where his machines and beasts could cross. That would be weeks of defending a vulnerable position against further Kaldorei raids while quickly exhausting the nearby lands of substance, forcing foragers to risk themselves going further and further afield.

Or he could head for one of the ends of the plateaus, hundreds of miles away and cross altogether. That, too, brought weeks of delay, weeks of further raids and more time for the Kaldorei to further buffer whatever final gambit they intended.

Then, in the midst of the thought, an idea hit Tamurkhan as though it was divinely inspired. Indeed, it may well have been _divinely inspired_ , for the gods and their creations had been known to plant plans in the minds of their servants before.

There were no good paths forward, but there may well be a way to ensure that Tamurkhan benefited all the same. And, more importantly, that _someone e_ lse suffered more.

* * *

 _Sayl outwardly took the orders in stride, affecting confidence where he had none. The Faithless knew that his pride was a blazing inferno when compared to the self-belief of most others, but not to the point of delusions._

 _Inwardly, Sayl despaired, he raged, he screamed and, most of all, he hated. He held all the emotional turmoil in until he got to the relative safety of his yurt, where Sayl at last allowed himself to vent; By incinerating the first two messengers that dared enter his abode._

 _(He was pretty sure they were spies, anyway)._

 _This was a death sentence._

 _One he couldn't refuse, either. To do so would put him in direct defiance of Tamurkhan and ensure his immediate death. Oh he had plenty of allies throughout the camp- allies who distrusted him like a waterhole on the Steppes, but who nevertheless thought to hide underneath him like a weak southerner's blanket against the monster that was the Maggot Lord._

 _If Tamurkhan had attacked his camp without provocation, these allies may well have come into the open, suspecting that such a move would serve as a prologue to Tamurkhan demanding that all non-Nurglites submit to their lord (Re: become a disease infested, brain-addled Plague Warrior) or die._

 _Now? Now, it would look like they were siding with a coward who refused a command to attack an enemy of the Dark Gods to save his own skin. If Sayl chose to defy Tamurkhan now, he would be crushed._

 _And yet the assault before him was almost equally suicidal. Sayl himself had scried the bridge. His force would be picked off by enemy archers, artillery and mages, taking horrendous losses before the Night Elves destroyed the bridge and dropped even more to their deaths. What remains of his army would be decimated, his power would crumble and-_

 _Things could get even worse, and they did. Dark chuckles echoed across his hearing and mind. Sayl's hatred intensified so much that it stung._

 _ **My my, your name is well-earned indeed, more than I could have ever imagined! Not only do you frequently break faith with your gods, demons, servants, mortal lords, soldiers, peers, acquaintances-**_

 _The Nightmare Lord meandered on for some time, until Sayl's snarl was so loud that it could penetrate his magical wards preventing sound from leaving his abode._

 _ **-parents, siblings etc. Not only do you break faith with all of them; you can't even muster any for yourself. Even in the moment of your greatest triumph.**_

 _Sayl spat scorn_

 _ **"Triumph? Your kin will make me bleed like a stuck mammoth and leave the Plague Lord to drive in the final spear. "**_

 _The hateful voice was as mirthful as it could be._

 _ **Bleed you, to be sure. But by the battle's end you will stand above the rest of your rabid, mongrel horde as its champion!**_

 _Sayl laughed hatefully, maddeningly ; the mockery wasn't even subtle anymore!_

 _ **"Do not dabble with me, you senile dream daemon! With my death, all your designs on my world also perish!"**_

 _More mirth, though there was definitely an undertone of mockery here_

 _ **I see I was mistaken- your grandiose self-worth is still quite present. Do you think I cannot find others that would be willing to be my catpaws?**_

 _ **Sayl flashed his own smile "I am not your catpaw, you are mine."**_

 _From the corner of his eye, Sayl could now see a figure begin to manifest, taking the appearance of a noble of his race, complete with celestial-like robes. The figure's smile was as wide as a canyon, and just as deep._

 _ **Such marvelous delusions of grandeur and power! You would fit well in Azshara's court. The queen herself might be amused by you- for a time at least.**_

 _ **"Don't waste my time with anecdotes of a dead empire, spirit. You know of my predicament- tell me how I can stop your kin from destroying the road right out from under me?"**_

 _ **So that is the prospect that has sent you quivering and which would no doubt make your nightmares tonight absolutely delightful to view.**_

 _Xavius's smile faded a tiny bit here, like a man who had reluctantly decided to deny himself some sought-after vice._

 _ **Allow me to put your fears- and sleep- to rest: The Kaldorei**_ _ **will not**_ _ **destroy the road tomorrow.**_

 _Sayl sneered at the obvious lie however was cut off before he could speak_

 _ **I speak truth, human. The Kaldorei will abstain from such a move because, if they did, it would jeopardize millions of**_

 _The Nightmare Lord paused here, visibly reigning in his amusement_

 _ **trees.**_

 _The restraint broke, and the figure chortled uncontrollably._

 _ **"What?**_ _"Sayl asked skeptically. What kind of fool did the Nightmare Lord take him for?_

 _Pausing, the Nightmare Lord glanced at Sayl_

 _ **I neither jest nor fabricate. The Kaldorei truly are forgoing their military advantage to... to... save the forest!**_

 _The chortling continued, tinged with madness._

 _For once Sayl could empathize. A gulf formed in his mind, a gap of comprehension that was a mile wide._

 _ **"Incomprehensible! Asinine! You speak of the Kaldorei abandoning their strategy at the very moment it would benefit them most! "**_

 _The Nightmare Lord's laughter began to die down, though the humor was still there._

 _ **Indeed. Though this is not the commander's doing- he is of the Old Sort, and is more frustrated and perplexed than you can imagine. It is quite humorous, actually, to watch how waking emotions play out in sleeping dreams. Yet this is not your horde of beasts'**_ _Sayl had the distinct feeling this reference wasn't just towards the horde's actual beasts '_ _ **this is a Kaldorei army and my former kin are of a more willful nature. Jarrod does not hold absolute control.**_

 _Slowly coming to terms with the information Sayl asked_

 _ **"They will not destroy the bridge tomorrow?"**_

 _ **Yes.**_

 _Something began to crack in Sayl's mind._

 _ **"Even though such an act would destroy much of my tribe?"**_

 _ **Yes.**_

 _The splits widened like straining glass_

 _ **"Even though my mammoths would decimate their weak warriors if the great beasts could reach them, they would allow this because otherwise, my mammoths would trample through their precious forest? "**_

 _ **Indeed, human, indeed.**_

 _ **"Even though the act of destroying the bridge would slow the horde's progress by weeks, giving the Elf Lord far more time to whittle us down, even though- from what you told me- the oldest and potentially most holy of all the temples dedicated to their goddess is but days away-"**_

 _ **Yes, thousand times yes human! After tomorrow's triumph, you will be at the temple within three days.**_

 _The glass shattered, the damn broke and Sayl dropped . He was- for the first time in decades- laughing and cackling hard enough that his eyes stung and his breathing was ragged. His sanity had left with his incredulity._

 _It was a contagious feeling and set Xavius to his own chortles. For long moments, they were mates in mirth, their mutual loathing and distrust and condescension momentarily forgotten._

 _The sheer lunacy of Elven beliefs. If he had known about their mad love of foliage (and been in command) he would have had the Chaos Horde spread itself wide, incinerating and defiling in a season of death. Let the Elves strike en mass if they cared so much for their precious forest, and his arms would close and crush the Kaldorei in their vice!_

 _Lost in dreams of an unfulfilled past, he barely heard Xavius's sobering word_ s

 _ **Of course, Jarod still plans to retreat as soon as he is able, and of course your force will incur bitter losses for comparatively little on the enemies' side, but you will at least have won the day.**_

 _Sayl's mirth waned for just a moment, before redoubling a hundredfold. A mad scheme began to take root, an idea that would take advantage of two sets of madness and make them serve his own designs._

 _ **I can see weavers spin behind even your gruesome visage, barbarian. Tell me what you are plotting.**_

 _ **"And spoil the surprise? Not at all, not at all. Observe and gape, you garbled spirit-figment of a by-gone petty noble, as I show you how a true plotter marks his craft!"**_

 _ **I see once more that the stereotype regarding the pride of my kind is misplaced. You realize, of course, I could just peel it from your mind as you sleep?**_

 _ **"Who said anything about sleeping? I have preparations to make for tomorrow and you have your bargain to honor, as previously discussed. "**_

 _Both Tamurkhan and the Kaldorei had set a snare for Sayl, yet the chaos warlord knew it was not he who was trapped. It was them._

* * *

The Kaldorei watched the milling hordes below with a mixture of emotions. For the relatively fresh, it was a mixture of excitement; anxiety and apprehension, for the numbers below were larger than anything they had seen. Those more veteran looked at the troops below with a deliberately detached indifference, seeing the huge numerical disparity but also noting the easy choke point. The oldest amongst them felt absolutely nothing, for the War of the Ancients had long since destroyed their capacity for horror.

Jarrod looked at them with suppressed sleepiness, having stayed up the night before to fully finalize all preparations. Most were directed towards the Sentinels; some were not. Some were meant to never be seen by the Sentinels, Druids or, any Kaldorei save the relatively sane Moonguard.

Jarrod frowned that it had to come to this. He hated dishonesty but he wasn't going to jeopardize the fate of this province because of cultural insanity.

The damned trees would grow back.

* * *

 _From Jarrod's retelling, the heroic stories often left out just how much of a champion's life dealt with tedious and unpleasant tasks. From Jarrod's orders, Eiyana came to acknowledge this advice as a true fact._

 _One of those unpleasant tasks belched loudly. The Task's companions laughed uproariously at the mortifying bodily functions, before trying to outdo with more belches or other, even more discomforting acts._

 _The fact that the leader of this Task was a female like herself only made the situation all the more mortifying._

 _Dwarfs._

 _Why her kin had allied with the mountain dwellers was beyond her. Oh she could understand it intellectually- the enemy of my enemy was, in theory, a potential ally- yet she could not understand why they were kept at anything other than arm's length. This race had not even the tiny bit of courtesy the humans (the 'good humans', as the Sentinels would say) possessed, nor any semblance of manners, respect for personal space or cleanliness. She had already knocked one drunken fool on his ass with an restrained (albeit barely) arcane burst for grasping things that he shouldn't have- an act that brought perplexing cheers from the other Dwarfs and amused sputtering from the offender. The 'leader' of the unruly Dwarf-mob even clapped her hand vigorously and gave the elf a wink that baffled her._

 _Still upset from the earlier events, Eiyana shook her head._

 _They came from the dirt, and looked like they still belonged there. Worse these were the Dark Iron Dwarfs, meaning they had a reputation even amongst their own kind for being for being the most untrustworthy, rudest and vilest of the Dwarfs._

 _Though, after this campaign, she suspected the Dark Irons would lose that vaunted position to the filth that was on the other side._

 _Still, from what Jarrod said they were needed and, she admitted, their mastery of dirt likely made them uniquely well-suited for this assignment._

 _With great trepidation, she lowered herself into the foul little artifice the dwarfs called a 'mole machine'- a twisting mechanical abomination the size of a northern mammoth and black as coal that possessed a single massive drill. She hesitated at the entrance, for the inside was filled with endless gears and levers of unfathomable natures, seats not proportioned at all too her size and-_

 _No safety harnesses other than a thin metal chain._

 _And then she felt a hand on the small of her back, and jumped forward in shock_

 _Abruptly she hit her head on the low metal, fell in and only just managed to right herself before the floor. She saw red stars as the laughter of over half a dozen drunken dwarfs pounded her eyes, the cramped quarters only serving to magnify the sound._

 _In embarrassment, anger and pain she turned back to see the unapologetic captain._

 _"A'w comon, elf. I dinnae push yer that hard! Just ach gentle touch to get yer movin. Eloquent Old Jess here" she patted the mole machine in an affectionate way " won't bite ya or anything, though she might take yer for a spin!"_

 _Anger turned into incredulity_

 _"Gentle? And this is your idea of eloquence? Are you and your people mad?"_

 _"Mine, lass?" she snorted "Were not the ones that want to kill ourselves ova' a bunch of trees."_

 _As much as she would have liked, Eiyana had no response to that._

 _"Now quit yer whining an' strap in!"_

* * *

Meanwhile, Sayl's own preparations were complete. The mingling hordes cleared a path for Sayl's eight thousand remaining Dolgans. Jeers and curses met their path, for the Dolgans were not particularly popular and Sayl hated even (especially) among those who were his allies. Yet the old chieftain was pleased to see these detractors quake as the Dolgan's twenty mammoths passed by.

From atop a howdah at the rear, Sayl surveyed it all. His eyes swept across the mocking hordes, sweeping briefly over the smirking Drazhoath until he gazed at last to the hulking form of Tamurkhan atop Bubebolos. Sayl raised his staff in a mocking salute, before turning to the troops ahead.

For once he had injected order into the chaos. Ranks were arraigned not by chance, but by design.

His force only made it one hundred yards before they hit the first of the strange mines. Warriors were pulled under as if by underwater predators and enormous geysers of blood erupted forth. Immediately, those placed in the front understood now the game and attempted to flee. However those in the back forced them front, striking them with great blows when they tried to retreat and in other cases hurling them bodily into traps. Better him than me, as the saying went.

In the cases in which the mounds were duds- for the Kaldorei had deliberately dug more than they had actual mines, to add to the intimidation value. In that case the pleading traitors were merely dragged to the next hole, and then the next until an actual mine was triggered.

And they _**were**_ all traitors. Sayl had ensured that every last spy- traitors by deed- were part of the first couple of ranks. His pact with Xavius had borne its first fruit, the dreams of traitors being far more revealing than any interrogation.

Many of the traitors Sayl had long since suspected. Some he actually knew but did not speak, using them as unseen tests to ensure Xavius actually was fulfilling his bargain and entering their minds as they slept. But a few were surprises to even him.

He glanced back at Tamurkhan, hoping that the Plague Lord would recognize the victims.

Gradually the Dolgans made progress as the actual mines petered out to nothing, and then the other defenses took their toll.

Sayl sneered. The infernal devices that created blood geysers had actually been threatening, while now his men were just dealing with flowers, vines and potholes. He didn't need the dream daemon's information to know that the former had been artifices of the Dwarfs, while the latter was the Kaldorei's own creations.

It was thematic, in a way that the Kaldorei could create something both so incredibly ineffectual went yet remarkably irritating to deal with.

Of course, to the men in the front, the defenses were far from weak. Thorns on the vine tore at exposed flesh, making it the blue and numb, while the sinister potholes penetrated the worn-leather of the average warriors. The afflicted screams in agony, their limbs rapidly swelling with unnaturally enhanced poisons and toxins. A few even burst like over swelled pustules, causing men around them to gag with deadly toxins.

Without pity the men of the next couple of rows picked up the afflicted men and hurled them bodily forward into the traps, again and again, ignoring screams and desperate pleas. It was callous pragmatism at its finest, for there were still traps ahead, and the afflicted could yet bear more for the untouched.

Here and there the front ranks, as if trying desperately to prove a point, hacked and slashed and tried to trigger the traps without doing so with their own forms. It was for naught for between the press of bodies and the cold calculation of the middle ranks- who knew instinctively that Sayl had placed the men he did in the front to die- there was no time.

And so by friendly hands the Traitors-in-deed died by the dozens to the artifices of the enemy.

* * *

 _Violently, in an unseen nook, a drill shattered the illusion of solid earth. The bulk followed, and when its hatch opened one figure, long and thin, fell from it as if she had been canned in it for days, instead of mere hours._

 _The elf wretched on the ground as the dwarfs inside the mole machine chuckled and laughed. It only lasted a moment before captain Brodeynga Evenbelly shut them up via hands on the backs of their heads._

 _"Quiet yer fools! Do ya wannae bring the entire enemy mob down on us?"_

 _The captain glanced at the vomiting elf_

 _"Eiyanna, pull yerself togetha lass! Put on up one of yer cloakin field!"_

 _The Elf in question glared hatefully at the Dark Iron captain before turning to the ground once more for a last heave. Finally, after mastering herself she stood and muttered a soft incantation._

 _Abruptly, the mage, the mole machine, and its crew disappeared from the world._

* * *

On the other side, Jarrod had trouble believing what he was seeing. Even with all the reports he had read regarding the enemies' cruelty to its own kind, the scenes below struck him as unnecessary even for a force of malevolence.

Many of those traps had been placed outside of artillery range, and were surely fairly obvious once the first couple had fallen for them (as vines and flowers typically did not grow on a well-trodden road). He had expected the enemy to spend some time carefully disarming or destroying those devices, which in turn would have provided further delays for Elyiana and the Dwarfs to work their craft.

There was no pressure for his foe to recklessly charge forward and trigger every single damn trap.

Yet they were.

Jarrod took a moment to curse both the enemy and himself, for underestimating his foe's malice, which appeared universal even to their own kind.

He then signaled his glaive throwers.

Vehicles, rather than wheeled devices, the drivers maneuvered their instruments forward as four sentinels hefted a series of enormous, nightsaber-sized glaives into the device.

At four hundred meters, the cranks and gears sprung into motion and ten different blades erupted forth.

Sayl cursed as violent eruptions of blood and gore erupted in violent explosions throughout the front. Great scythes sheared through middles, heads and outstretched limbs inside the densely packed ranks, proliferating multiple individuals, and leaving between a dozen and two corpses behind each, with more screeching survivors.

He had not expected a race as primitive as the Kaldorei to possess any artifice worth the name 'artillery'.

He gave the horn bearer by his side a glare, an unspoken command that the servant hastily followed as if he knew nothing else. Indeed, he might well have known nothing else as Sayl had hired a passing Chaos Dwarf to lobotomize the man long ago for some transgression that the warlord had since forgotten about.

At this command two mammoths bolted forward, moving through ranks of warriors who hastily parted out of the way. Or, at least those of wit and speed did- those who did not were of no concern. Nor did it bother the mammoths none, who trampled through as if there was a fertile field ahead and nothing but errant, screaming bloody weeds in the way.

Another shower of glaives bit deep into the already chaotic movements of the horde yet Sayl cared not. Sayl's two remaining subservient sorcerer-slaves cast phantasms and illusions in an attempt to throw off the enemy artillery.

Sayl sneered at this foolishness and then directed the projection of his will to sap the Aether from their hands, before commanding the magics to coalesce around the path. Shadows solidified and the magics of the heavens shimmered; violent violet electrical charges surged down the elevated pass.

It was an impressive light show that obscured the simple fact that, in reality, it did absolutely nothing to the pass.

But that wasn't the point. The spell wasn't supposed to actually do anything; it was supposed to _look like_ it was doing something.

And to the watching hordes of Tamurkhan, who freely expected the Kaldorei to destroy the bridge, it very much appeared that Sayl's magic was single-handily saving it.

* * *

 _An arc of sudden lightning burst against her shimmering invisibility field, causing Eiyana to momentarily stagger before recovering the barrier. For the faintest second, there was the slightest shimmer however it was over so fast, that most would simply view it as a trick of the eyes. Or at least she hoped that would be the case..._

* * *

If the glaives impacted with the shattering force of lightning, then the Kaldorei's arrows hit with the unrelenting force of a hailstorm. At two hundred and fifty meters, thousands of elven bows twanged and a volley of arrows took flight that darkened the sky. Men of the first few ranks fell in droves, proliferated by endless arrows. Men trampled men as they continued to rush forward, shields over their heads.

The front mammoths, meanwhile, were covered in so many projectiles that their fur appeared akin to enormous shaggy dogs after a rain storm, overladen with rain. While these arrows did naught but annoy the great beasts, for they were much too small to penetrate through the great beasts' layers of blubber, the Northman who rode the howdahs on top were not so lucky.

Again and again the arrows fell and, though the Northmen now held their shields to the sky, such was the volume and rate of fire of the projectiles that many inevitably found gaps in the shields or even armor (though Sayl, viewing his Chaos Warriors as more valuable, had kept them to the back). Every step came at the cost of Northman blood but, gazing over his troops, Sayl reckoned they could afford the price.

* * *

 _Far below, the Dark Iron shamans- all eight of them- set to work. Commanding a small legion of earth elementals the Dwarfs bade their servants to tear through the earth that served as the foundation of the pass, either through their own physical strength or by convincing the inherent earth spirits found there to weaken their forms into mud._

* * *

It was only in those last hundred meters that Sayl was at last forced to change his calculations. There the Kaldorei and their allies unleashed the full overwhelming deluge of artillery, archers and, more terrifying for the men below, magical soldiers. Enormous glaives and the unending hailstorm of arrows were joined by small pillars of luminescent lunar light that seared souls like fire to the shriveled dry underbrush. Dozens of twisters manifested suddenly inside the onrushing horde, knocking men over and hurling the unfortunate few that were directly underneath them high in the air. Seeds flew into mouths like a swarm of nurglish flies and caused all the gagging men to stagger and choke. Other, rarer projectiles like burst of fire or that strange violet magic previously seen at the Moonguard stronghold burst added to the cacophony.

So intense was this overwhelming onslaught that even men in the middle ranks began to waver, and the cursing Sayl was forced to spend his magics in the service of the horde, rather than the horde is service of his magics. The shadows and lightning alongside the path faded and, using all the aethyr force he could muster he conjured a gale force wind that wracked the skies above his forces. Arrows were sent spiraling off course and the wind magics that maintained the twisters were disputed, sending the men held aloft falling to their dooms (along with those that they happened to land on).

However, try as he might, he could not completely nullify the magical onslaught nor seriously derail the artillery, which were now firing anti-infantry bursts of dozens of glaives at once in addition to a lingering few gigantic glaives. One of these sliced into a portion of a mammoth's trunk, causing the great beast to roar in rage and charge forward outside the howdah master's control.

Straining, Sayl could feel the enemy mages at the other end, one of whom the sorcerer reluctantly conceded as his equal, countering his spell. He poured in more of his concentration into ensuring the spells integrity, at least for a while. The enemy would ultimately succeed in wrestling control of the skies above, though by then it would be too late.

As the Chaos Horde reached its final thirty yard stretch, the elves deployed their final gambit. At the command of gesturing druids a dormant field of flowers suddenly erupted into full bloom. Pollens filled the air, their effect amplified by the Druidic spell craft. Hundreds of Northmen began to slow, their senses growing duller with every step. Many of them of them collapsed entirely, their bodies so wracked by sudden exhaustion that they fell into a deep sleep.

It was a sudden and surprisingly total sleep, so much so as to be likened to unconsciousness. Kicks to the sides did nothing to stir the sleeping, and those who hung around long enough to do so quickly found themselves breathing in the same pollen. Near the center of the force one of the two charging mammoths slowed and sagged, before collapsing forward in a kneeling bow.

Others battled bitterly to stay awake, moving slower as willpower clashed with dulled senses and nerves. Still a few fought off the affect entirely, relying on wrath or mutation or even sheer willpower. Of those the wounded mammoth, pained and wrathful, led the pack. Some of the flowers uprooted themselves and made as if to strangle the marauders with their vines however, other than a few painful looking blows inflicted, most were knocked aside.

Those few who ran on met dozens of hurled infantry glaives- twisting weapons that seemed to supernaturally veer between their initial targets and their foes nearby, slicing and carving them up or at least cutting into shields.. Sayl watched with no little curiosity how most of the projectiles veered back into the thrower's hand.

It seemed even the expendable meat here sent to the front knew a little magical lore.

And then that mattered no more; his men at last had reached the Kaldorei lines. With a final monumental effort Sayl used his fading control of the winds to bring the howling winds down to ground level and dissipate the pollen. And, with that, the true battle for the Ridge began.

When it came to an angry charging mammoth, the response of the Kaldorei was that of any sane being- dive out of the way. Not all did so fully, and the first Kaldorei blood was spilled then, crushed all over the ground like squashed vegetables.

The Northmen followed with the beast.

* * *

There were parallels aplenty to be found in the fighting that followed.

The predominately female Sentinels clashed with the mostly male Northerners, rustic forest dwellers with the scions of the howling wastes. One side relied on muscle, fanaticism and animalistic savagery; the other on graceful agility, discipline and cold-eyed death. Warriors-born fought Soldiers-Made. Weapons forged for their eloquence and speed met those that were viewed as manifestations of power. Hacking and impaling thrusts were the modus operandi of the Northmen; slashes and cuts were that of the Sentinels. It was the tale of the butcher and the artist.

How might that look?

Here, a chaos marauder bashed his shield forward, momentarily unsettling a Sentinel enough for an axe blade to carve through half her neck. There, a series of brutal sword hacks powered by unnatural strength shattered the arm of one who sought to block it directly and the next blow brained her. Still a third brought his God-given gift to bear, surprising a dueling Kaldorei with an extra arm that burst from the hidden reaches of his cloak to impale her through the middle.

Yet, there were artists present as well as butchers. Another, overconfident warrior lunged forward and had his neck ripped open by a single blurring blade- his killer so confident in the demise that the sentinel didn't even give the corpse a passing glance as the she moved to engage someone else. Another of her sisters actually leaped onto a slanted shield, somehow found traction and drove her blade through the startled warrior's eye. Still a third, male sentinel- in almost a show offish-manner- rolled his head to the side at the opportune moment, allowing a fired arrow from behind to piece through a roaring Northman's throat.

The mammoth, meanwhile had made a dent- but that would change. Already great cats were climbing the great limbs of the beasts as if they were the trunks of trees while birds- no longer at risk by the winds- landed atop the Howdah and morphed into their elven forms where they grappled with the two dozen or so Northmen on board. The Northmen fought, and the beast itself shook its legs. Sayl knew, as did any that road the great beasts, that if the Kaldorei could claim the beast's back they would drive their blades into the base of the mammoth's skull, just as any howdah rider was trained to do in case their beasts ran amok.

Sayl glanced at the beast, before reluctantly casting it from his thoughts. Losing a Mammoth- even a pallid captured Norscan beast- was never a happy prospect for any plains warlord. Yet the beast was in too deep, and his magical intervention would be wasted.

The amount of aethyric force for him to play around with was low- as it nearly always was on this forsaken planet. Most of what he had available had been utilized on the mists he had placed around the pass and the wind to disrupt the elves' arrows- a worthwhile endeavor and necessary evil respectively.

In fact, even with the eight hundred chaos warriors and remaining mammoths held at the back, Sayl acknowledged it well within possibility that he would lose if both armies stayed and committed.

And yet...

Sayl's smile was low, hidden from the world by his helmet but revelatory all the same.

For in that moment what he had foreseen came to pass, and a baleful horn blasted across the battlefield. The Maggot Lord had come.

And the trap was sprung.

* * *

From his position on top a hippogyph on the other side of the battlefield, Jarrod watched the battle below.

One could never underestimate the value of a bird's eye view, the ability of the commander to not only know instantly of fluctuations of the battlefield, but directly see it as well. Particularly when surrounded by aerial messengers (the surrounding half-dozen druids of the talon) to quickly deliver said orders to the troops below.

In the distant past, this simple innovation alone had earned the ancient Kaldorei Empire victories.

Musingly, Jarrod reflected that it was truly was ancient now, even though he could remember that nation quite vividly. In the span since the Sundering entire species had risen and fell like fields of flowers before an ancient tree.

Of course, some of the flowers were putrid things better plucked then left to fester and infect.

Gazing down at the battle below, Jarod was perplexed by the behavior of the enemy. They had committed an assault of thousands, but the main horde declined to support it. The enemy artillery was present in the amassing hordes at the base of the pass, but they did not fire. The enemy leader had cast some sort of magic around the pass that, tangibly, didn't seem to do anything- almost as if it were all just for show.

From what he could ascertain, none of the alternate avenues had been taken by any more than an almost perfunctory scouting force. Easy enough for Lunara and her Dyrads to deal with.

Idly, he considered the possibility that there was some politicking going on below, as had occurred at times in the Kaldorei Empire. Then the Highborne nobles who ruled during those times had often sought situations that would see them benefit and their enemies falter. Sometimes those occasions had wrought causalities.

Yet to sacrifice entire regiments for the sake of that rivalry, in the midst of a war campaign, in the middle of a hostile land, and without reinforcements?

Madness. That couldn't be the reason.

Then a particularly evil sounding horn signaled advance from the massing ranks- and not an orderly one either. Though Jarrod could not see their individual facial expressions, the men seemed...confused. Like the act was unexpected. Some hung back while others rushed forward- and at the tip of them all was the massive beast that the SI:7 had identified as the leader's mount.

More questions. But most pertinent- why now?

Jarrod's plans had changed twice already as a result of the adapting circumstances. At first, it was too simply engage the enemy briefly and then retreat, followed by constant harassment as they moved more and more of their troops over the pass in the following days. Then, it was to engage and hold the enemy here until that Moonguard Eiyana and the Dwarfs could complete their mission. Then, after the one-eyed sorcerer's insane charge he had begun to consider the possibility that he should actually maintain engagement and destroy the mammoth rider's force.

Now there was a different opportunity, for few acts could throw an army into disarray as well as the death of its leader. Regardless if the Moonguard and her team succeeded, the death of this lord would surely cause chaos, as lesser chieftains sought to take sole command and used their forces for politicking. Likely, it would be easier to drive the enemies' mobs apart, as was originally intended. And if both objectives were achieved, then the campaign was all but won- the remaining campaign would just be an extended mop-up campaign.

Idly, he acknowledged the potential that this was a trap. Yet, Jarrod knew well how easy it was for the trapper to become trapped and, indeed, he had reversed fortunes more than once on a commander of the Legion who thought the Kaldorei were his prey.

Doubtlessly, more Kaldorei would die here than if he followed the original plan. Yet, if this succeeded, he would be saving far more in the long run.

Finished deliberating, Jarrod called two messengers to him- one for the SI:7, and one for Broll Bearmantle.

* * *

Had the world ever seen as one as arrogant as Tamurkhan the Maggot Lord? Not in the eyes of the Faithless, at least.

The Plague Lord charged and sauntered through Sayl's forces like a plains lion come to take the lionesses' kill. He did not ask to go through the Dolgan ranks- he demanded it, via long and loud bellows of his mount. He never paused his march and if a Dolgan was not wary enough to get out of the toad dragon or the accompanying plague knights way, they were crushed.

Watching one unwary Chaos Warrior killed in such a manner, Sayl cursed the plague lord for his waste of Dolgan lives. And for what? So that Tamurkhan could keep his prestige in the face of a diminishing force, a force he himself had led to near ruin? So that the Maggot Lord could claim some petty and temporary military victory, when all here knew the final battle was yet to come?

Sayl didn't need the far-sight provided by the Aethyr to know that Tamurkhan would attempt to steal his glory- he had done so before. At the gate he had done the same, ordering Sayl to battle the Norscans first and then arriving at the final moments, when the Faithless had already won a victory.

Like the bullying lion king, Tamurkhan could not allow another to claim the glory and attention of the gods. Their gaze - and particularly that of the Grandfather- had to be ever fixed on him alone. Sayl recognized pragmatism here, for to lose the attention of the gods was to lose the respect of the horde, and to lose that, was to lose life itself.

Sayl's gaze flickered once to the Kaldorei as here, and he reluctantly conceded that the dream daemon's information had been useful indeed. Foresight could go far, but left gaps, gaps that Xavius had filled. All of which pointed to a simple prediction- that the Kaldorei commander, frustrated by his own people's madness, would belay retreat to try to take the Plague Lord's head.

Indeed, in his visions, he had seen it! Marked and bloodied, the blow that brought Tamurkhan to his final bloody ruin. The howling in the sky as the Grandfather was denied, the faithful choosing to follow the Faithless.

Seeing that the knights have moved through with their lord, Sayl spoke a command to his trumpeter. Behind the Plague lord the ranks closed, sealing Tamurkhan with his fate.

* * *

If the Plague Lord noticed this, he did not alter his plans. Indeed, Tamurkhan felt himself swell and a sense of elation overtook all other concerns. The Grandfather was here! His gaze was here, fixed on his mightiest grandson.

Tamurkhan felt himself invigorated beneath the gaze, like a plant in the beam of the sun. His spirit and power soared to the clouds. Destiny roared around him like thunder.

He had lived millennia, fought in more conflicts than were recorded in the sum annals of man, and seen miracles the sights of which could drive even daemons into stunned awe. He had felt this feeling only thrice before, and each had been marked by a monumental event.

The Maggot Lord's smoldering gaze fell upon the Kaldorei before him. Neither they, nor the petty schemes of envious rival warlords, would stop divine destiny.

Across the field the Maggot Lord saw a hippogryph land, its rider clad in such ornate armor that there was no doubting that this was the enemy commander. Around them, similarly mounted cat riders adorned in stylized plate gathered.

The Maggot Lord's ascent never faltered, nor that of his knights. It did not slow from those who failed to get out of the Plague Lord's way, and those unfortunates were trampled underneath. It did not slow when a hailstorm of arrows rained down from the skies, for the projectiles shattered harmlessly against the rusted plate-metal of the Plagues Knights, or else embedded into bloated skin-fat without mortality. It did now slow when artillery joined these arrows, for each and every man believed himself alone god-blessed and those sliced up by the glaives of inefficient faith.

Simultaneously, the Kaldorei cleared a path for their knight lord- though with far less trampling involved.

The Plague Lord snorted contemptuously to himself.

Let the enemy commander pull whatever petty scheme he no doubt intended with such an obvious ploy. This was a game of gods now.

And he had the greatest deity of them all on his side.

And then the Plague Knights and Plated Cat Riders reached one another, their thunderclap echoing across the battlefield.

* * *

 _Far below, the dwarfs and their charges dug deeper and deer, shifting earth like children and sand. At places the Dark Irons planted charges; at others, they chipped and tugged until some particularly stubborn rock came loose. They worked as quietly as possible, not trusting the Elven Sorcereress' field to completely nullify their sound._

 _As occurred too often in history, the worst-case scenario proved prescient._

 _Without reason, Eiyana felt the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up. Her sixth sense told her to look up, and she did._

 _The Dwarf Lord who had assaulted the Moonguard Stronghold met hers, his form mounted on top of his abominable flying bovine mount from a hundred feet up. The Dwarf's malevolent visage was lit by the lingering trail of flame the elf sized fireball had left._

 _The field shattered like glass._

* * *

Petty, weak, ill-refined, and illusionary. To Drazhoath, words such as these were as equally applicable to the Elgik as their magic. The Elgik had underestimated the Zharr, and paid the required price.

Even now, even here, the instinctive Dawi sense of the earth was paramount. Even with the stamping and movement a of nearly a thousand thousand feet the most sensitive of his kin had felt something strange with the earth even as the Zharr Lord noticed an odd fluctuation with Sayl's petty and purposeless magical stunt.  
Those two clues together led the Dawi Zharr Lord here.

The Elgik lay unmoving on the ground, though Drazhoath would bet she was more unconscious than dead. Drazhoath nodded approvingly - she was more valuable that way. The Dawi Zharr were pragmatic enough to take what they could from others and there was much they could render out of this sorceress. Even weak cantrips might become something passable through Dawi Zharr refinement.

The others however...

Furnace fires arose within his eyes as he contemplated the disgraceful specimens before him.

He had hardly believed it when the seers reported that "Dwarfs" existed in the enemy army. He had even threatened to flay the messenger, right there in Tamurkhan's court, and only the Plague Lord's presence prevented him from doing so. Yet, to be presented with undeniable proof...

He shook his head violently.

Elgik and Dawi working together. Inconceivable! An Abomination! Drazhaoth felt physically ill! Though the Dawi Zharr despised their False Cousins with a hate that could set alight every furnace in the Zharrdom, and they knew that hatred would be returned until the End of Days, it was a silent commonality they had in that both disdained the Elgi. Logic would indicate that any _True Dawi_ would feel the same contempt for the longer eared Elgik.

Drazhaoth watched with astonishment and disgust as two of the 'Dwarfs' below rushed forward beyond the Elgik, fending off blows from the charging Hobgoblins, while a third bend down and hurled the she-elf bodily on his back. Still a fourth gestured to the ground and from it two elemental of pure fire arose, causing the ever-cowardly Hobgoblins to shrink back in fear.

Together the squad fled back to their strange machine, covering each other with firearms and axe and their servants of earth. Though not perfectly. Massing in their dozens, the hobgoblins overwhelmed the earth guardians and mobbed two of the enemy "Dwarfs". That several were slain were no consequence, for wherever the Dawi Zharr trod, more of that treacherous sycophant race seemed to pop up.

The "Dwarfs" seemed to take exception to the capture of their ilk. One of the "Dwarfs" conjured a burst of flame from his body that impressively ignored his fellows while igniting the dozen or so rushing hobgoblins. The screeching of the burned reminded Drazhoath briefly of the ziggurat temples, the wailing of the victims and their relatives and the smell of roasted flesh as the sacrificed were pushed into Hashut's furnaces.

The Dwarf briefly grimaced; he had gone too long without filling that obligation.

The "Dwarfs" retrieved one of their kind, even as others filtered into their strange metal craft. Then there was a roar of brief thunder, and the fire-wielding "Dwarf" flew backwards, his chest riddled with dozens of bullets. From on high, Drazhaoth again frowned at the loss of a potential asset and vowed to dock the death from the offending Zharr's overseer pay. The loss of a couple dozen more Hobgoblins- or even the crippling of the overseer- would be heavily outweighed by the knowledge- both magical and mundane- that would be ground and extracted from the captive.

Drazhoath stared intently at the offender, memorizing his face and gait. A mere pay cut might not be enough. It could be very well be that he had found the next sacrifice to the Father of Darkness.

Unfortunately, the remaining Dwarfs had reached their strange little machine; some sort of drilling device that reminded him vividly of a abominable Clan Skyre device. Knowing that his servants lacked the ability to penetrate its hull, Drazhoath reached out into the winds, once more struggling to gain any traction. He cursed this planet for its limited reserves, then cursed Sayl for wasting what little existed on a pointless light show. It accomplished nothing tangible other than to fool the stupid .

Suddenly, his mount veered, barely dodging a bullet.

Drazhoath roared, vowing vengeance only to freeze at the grinning face of the "Dwarf" who dared the affront. And then he froze.

It was a woman, a female Dwarf.

Gears stopped turning for a moment.

A female "Dwarf" on the battlefield? No-he glanced closer at one or two of the others. Female "Dwarfs" on the battlefield!

The False Cousins would never have considered such a thing. Indeed, they would have universally shaved their beards at the thought of having soldier women, for it would have carried the implications that their men folk just couldn't cut it.

Even his kind, pragmatic and calculative, would never have expended a Zharr woman of breeding age on the battlefield. Not while there was still value to be extracted. The exceptions of course occurred after all value had been extracted, when the sow could no longer breed, and only then did the most radical of priests and lords seek to train a bodyguard of the most fanatical and hateful of the old cows.

Or...

Drazhoath ground his teeth.

The less said or thought about that _abomination_ known as Sukve Sonflayer, the better. But _she_ was the only Hashut Damned exception, and none save the Father of Darkness could have allowed it!

Drazhoath clenched his teeth, finding himself enraged for the first time in a long time not at the loss of profit or at some perceived insult to his person, but at the affront to common morality. This was the disregard of a social tradition that extended back to the beginning of time, a tradition that had stood since the Dawi Zharr were just a handful of adventurous clans, eager to explore an uncharted part of the world.

"Dwarf" Women Soldiers. Elgik friends.

At once he understood, understood the connection here between blasphemies. The rot extended deeper than he imagined. The "Dwarfs" below weren't just allied to the Elgik- they were influenced by them! All texts acknowledged that Elgik allowed females in their ranks- grotesquely, they sometimes even put them in command, as Drazhoath noted the female below seemed to have.

The Elgik had corrupted stout Dwarf traditions to the point of complete corrosion!

Drazhoath was witnessing an affront that defied words and descriptions. A Race of "Dwarfs' - no, not "Dwarfs", fleas!- in service to the Elgik. They had entered servitude to the Elgik just like the Hobgoblos had to Zharrdom.

The Chaos Dwarf Lord was seeing red.

He would personally ensure this grudge was written in the annals of the Book of Fire within Zharr Nagrund itself! And then, Hashut-willing, he would gather such a host that Tamurkhan's would look paltry beside it! And then, he would wipe away this stain on Dwarfkind and their corruptors forever.

Unfortunately, so caught up in his thoughts of vengeance, Drazhoath did not notice as the last of the 'dwarfs' below entered their machine. Did not respond as the strange drill machine began to while. Only the grinning face of the hateful female- standing at the entrance- tore him from his thoughts, for she was using one arm to point at what was in the hand of the other. Drazhoath recognized it immediately- and directed Cbreath out of there.

The Dark Irons hadn't finished their work of course. There had not been enough time to plant explosives under every section of the pass, or to use their earth elemental servants to undermine the total foundation. So instead of the entire land pass collapsing in a dramatic and choreographed cacophony, only a small section did so.

It was still enough to send hundreds of eager and excited chaos warriors hurtling to their deaths off the side of the new cliff face. Or drag them deep in the newly formed series of haphazard sinkholes for a even crueler death by crushing suffocation. The closest survivors looked on the ground beneath their feet with a new sensation of terrified dread and, even though the majority of the road was unaffected, struggled vainly against the press of unaware bodies to their rear that pushed them forward like a tide.

Those at the front were beyond such petty concerns now. The roar of explosive munitions and the screams of several thousand men were nothing more than background noise.

The press of metal and bodies had come to favor the Northmen and, in their savagery, they pushed backs the Sentinels meter by meter. Had Sayl wished it, he could have ordered his Chaos Warriors forward and formed a wedge deep into the Kaldorei lines. Yet he had a very keen interest in dragging this out...

At the head of a vast company of Knights the Plague Lord hadn't just breached Kaldorei lines- he had smashed them aside like a elephant crashing through the underbrush. No force could stand before the twenty ton might of Bubeledos the Plague Dragon, and the cat rider's had leapt aside at its charge. The momentum had carried him and the Maggot Lord deep into the Kaldorei lines, smashing aside those trembling Kaldorei who tried to deter its advance with glaives and spears.

Behind him, the elven knights tried to reform and close shut around the Toad Dragon. His Plague Knights were not having it, their rusted lances and blades undertaking biting strikes on their foes with a speed that belied their bloated forms and a strength un-acquirable by natural means. Yet the fight remained relatively contested, for these were no ordinary Kaldorei but veterans of the First Legion Invasion, individuals who would view even Tamurkhan's ancient father as some young upstart. A few had even served as Jarrod's bodyguards millennia ago.

Moreover, they were not alone. Druids of the Talon dove down from the skies, the best of them casting spells of lightning without even switching their form. Others landed and channeled the winds, creating a series of small cyclones that ran straight into the charging infantry behind the knights, scattering them. The Talons worked together to form a barrier of gale force wind.

It would not hold forever, but Jarrod hoped it would just long enough.

Now came the tricky part- to hold the Plague Lord's attention so that he would not try to bully his way out of the trap. And so it was with that consideration in mind that Jarrod directed his mount, and landed on the hindquarters of the massive beast.

* * *

 _From over half a mile away, a single eye peered through a scope as long as her forearm. Her vantage point at the top of the tallest stable tree branch provided her with a excellent view of the battle beyond. Through the telescope she zoomed in on dozens of scenes of savagery and heroism as corrupted human and Kaldorei dueled. More than once, she saw the defenders beleaguered and overwhelmed, and knew that if she chose too, she could have saved them with a single round._

 _She did not. Indeed, Amber Kearnen was trained not too. There was a far greater target out there for her and, with careful deliberation, she narrowed her sights._

* * *

Jarrod knew he had no chance, of course. He may be over ten thousand years old but his swordplay was out of practice. And the Kaldorei freely acknowledged that even at his height he would not have been able to match the monster before him. Tamurkhan fought with the speed Shivarran Blademistress and hit with the strength of a...

..Well, an Ogre.

Ironically, the only thing keeping Jarrod alive was the fact that they were fighting on the barbarian's mount for it was here that the elf's greater sense of balance prevailed. Indeed, the two wounds he inflicted- shallow cuts to the arms- came as a result of the mutated beast's twisting and turns to hit at the Kaldorei stabbing at it; events that nearly caused the cursing enemy commander to fall off.

The ogre-thing roared his rage at Jarrod before locking his legs around the creature and bringing a massive guantleted fist down on his mount's back hard enough to make it cry out and sag- and for Jarrod to finally lose his balance. He fell off and, almost as if it was waiting for that moment, the ground burst beneath the great bloated beast.

* * *

 _In the most remote portions of some tropical forests, there existed plants that feasted on flesh rather than the dew and the sun's rays. When a prey animal stepped its grasp, the plant would burst into action and wrap a dozen sticky tendrils around the struggling animal._

 _This was that, writ large. Her professional concentration almost broke when she watched, in awe, as dozens of vines- some the size of houses- burst from the ground to wrap themselves around the frenzied abomination._

 _Nevertheless, disciplined returned, and she was re-adjusted her shot._

* * *

Tamurkhan's sword cut through one tendril like it was mere blade of grass, and then another yet, like a Naggarondi hydra, more grew from the earth for every cut stalk.

Worse, they were directed by a clear intelligence, for the roots began to reach for the Maggot Lord's knees. More swipes of the sword cut the stalks down, yet they kept coming, even as those that first grappled Bubeledos began to wilt from the Plague Dragon's contagion.

Cursing hatred and disgust, the Plague Lord dismounted and began trying to cut the Toad Dragon's bonds manually. Opportunistic Kaldorei attempted to swipe with glaive, spear and sword yet their blows did naught but scratches upon the Plague Lord's armor, or else sunk only to the surface of bloated flesh. Like irksome flies Tamurkhan cast them off, his return blows striking gruesomly at speeds the Kaldorei thought impossible of a human.

And then his plagued sword met a familiar enchanted one, and Tamurkhan sneered in the face of the enemy Kaldorei commander. Dangerous and arrogant, the Plague Lord thought, to face him in an arena where his acrobatics would not avail him. This would be over quickly.

The Plague Lord's first blow nearly shattered Jarrod's arm as he parried with his sword. The second blow- sent less than a full second after the first- knocked him physically backwards several feet, causing the Night Elf to trip on a nearby corpse. The Third and Fourth cleaved through a pair of sentinels who attempted to arrest his advance, whereas the fifth was only just evaded by the third sentinel, who managed to score a cutting blow across the gut. However this provoked naught but an angry growl followed by the sixth blow that cut the brave defender in twain.

Before Jarrod could pick himself up the enemy stood poised above him, ready to deliver the final blow. Yet Jarrod's plight had not escaped the gaze of other allies. A Rifle shot cracked, and the Plague Lord reeled as a projectile went straight through his right shoulder. Simultaneously a geyser of vines and roots erupted beneath him like a geyser. The instruments enveloped him in their crushing embrace even as its caster- Broll Bearmantle- landed on the earth, his right arm still raised to maintain the spell. With the other, he helped the commander off the ground.

Tamurkhan snarled like a daemon, his ogre form straining against his bonds. Some tore, snapped by the straining ogre-man's strength but the analogy was again akin to a hydra, for every root broken only caused more to erupt from the earth. Broll bore his full attention onto the plaguelord and, with another gesture, caused the roots to slowly pull back the ground. Tamurkhan struggled all the more furiously but not even his enhanced strength could overcome the pull of nature.

Then there was a crack, another bang of rifle fire, and an explosion of gore as the top half of the Plague Lord's head burst into pieces. Surprised, Broll's hold over the vines grew lax as Tamurkhan's corpse sagged.

There was a tense moment, as the pair of the Night Elves glanced at each other, then back at Tamurkhan. Then laughter washed away the scene- the loud boisterous guffawing of the relieved, of those who found that a problem of crippling anxiety had suddenly and inexplicitly resolved itself. For a moment, they forgot about the battle waging around them, the struggling multi-ton beast, everything. They even forgot of the shifting lines, for the Sentinels gave the pair a wide berth now, and were only just holding the Northmen from the front.

Broll, eyes tearful, joyfully muttered a incantation over Jarrod's shattered arm. Muscle and bones re-knit anew. Jarrod, pleased that his great gambit had paid off, accepted the druid's hand to get back up on his feet.

 _(Half a mile away, a satisfied sniper allowed herself a moment of triumph, smiling slightly at a job well done even as she packed up her rifle)._

Jarrod flashed a triumphant grin to the still sagging warlord.

And then a pit dropped. Jarrod's breath halted within his throat.

The vines had fallen away back to the earth yet the body still sagged, unsupported now, in the air.

Time moved slowly. Sensing something, Broll's head was just beginning to turn.

The false corpse took a halting step forward and through its ruined jaws uttered an statement without comprehension in his own tongue.

 _"You should have sought the chest."_

There was a second burst of gore, and the Ogre's vast rib-cage **tore open** as _something_ burst from its chest. The ugly blurred form leapt without hesitation for Jarrod. Instinctively, Broll shoved the commander out of the way only to receive the form's attention.

And receive it he did- right in the chest.

For a horrible moment, all a dazed Jarrod could hear was screaming and tearing. When he looked over he saw Broll sagged to the ground, his hands clutched tightly around his chest. Instinctively, Jarrod reached out to help his friend.

He received a viscous backhand in return.

Once more the Kaldorei commander was sent spiraling to the ground. Staggering upright, half-blinded by the druid's claws his one-eyed gaze met the renegade druid's.

Having picked himself up, "Broll" glanced down at himself, testily moving his arms and legs as if just discovering they were there. There was a look of almost child-like glee on his visage, as if he was given a new toy.

Then he turned back to Jarrod and smiled at him. This was not the light jubilant smile that he normally had when amused, but some twisted thing that somehow stretched ear to ear. It looked sick and promised death. Beneath the smile, the gaping hole in his chest rapidly healed.

Behind the twisted Night Elf, the beast managed to break its bounds and its tremulous quaking gait walked towards 'Broll". The great beast inquisitively sniffed the air, before bowing its great head to the earth. The form may be new, but the corruption was all the same.

"Broll's" jaw rolled back and forth, emitting guttural sounds no elven throat should make. Still reeling, Jarrod desperately tried to right himself with a broken spear haft. His eyes caught the squad-leader of Sentinels who had managed to fend off a group of Northmen- for now.

Then came the speech, Tamurkhan's guttural soul mixing with the melodic voice of an elf into something blood-curling and abominable. The speech was made all the worse by its mix of tender familiarity mixed with deadly malevolence.

" Grandfather gifts well. This body. this soul." he lifted up his arms "thin. Weak like your kind. But old. Old and still young. Long-lasting. Yes. This flesh will serve me well until I become one of Blessed Kind. "

For long moments Jarrod stood still, eyeing the body of his friend with a mixture of shock, remorse, disgust and loathing. Was this how the humans of Lordaeron felt, he wondered, when the Scourge turned their families and friends against them?

He suppressed the former two emotions but didn't bother to hide his disgust and loathing.

"It will be your final skin, maggot. I'll be sure carve you out of it before I throw you to the fire."

The Broll-Thing laughed, and once against Jarrod's hair rose, for the sound came in two simultaneous voices at full volume- one guttural and one melodic.

"Bold Boast- Shadowsong I think " his eyes briefly strained, before nodding to himself. " I defeated your people's host, Elf. Soon, all will die." His arms gestured to the general battle, which was clearly now going a certain way. " They need not if you wish it. Embrace the Grandfather, Take his Gift, Serve I and they live. "

This time it was Jarrod who forced out laughter- a slightly crazed thing that masked only somewhat the real anxiety he felt. And yet there was reason behind it.

"You think this was my people's host, barbarian lord? You think I was your final foe to contest for ownership of this province? Delusional maggot- I am merely a vanguard, just as that one eyed warlord was for your main army. "

He leaned very slightly forward. Common sense told him not to do this but what was common sense to the sheer, raw hatred that he was feeling?

"Given you can speak my tongue, you can clearly recall Broll's memories. You will find nothing in there regarding specifics, for I handled that, but the general knowledge is yours. Go on then, 'remember' what it is that is coming. More importantly, _ **remember**_ _**Who**_ is coming. Take my advice then, abomination, the advice I only offer so that I can spare those who you would manage to slay in helpless flailing as you fell; leave now this province. Take your army with you, and you may outrun them."

For a moment, "Broll" frowned, straining his new mind to recall what Jarrod was referring to. Then the frown deepened as the reference was suddenly understood. For a single second, a grimace of what might be unease crossed his flesh-mask.

Then it disappeared, like a ripple in a pond. When he spoke, the abominable voice was all confidence.

"They will fall as well, Shadowsong. Fall like children before the Pox. The Grandfather knows no defeat. You do not know this like my world does. But you will. "  
"Broll" raised his hand at Jarrod, pointing  
"Last chance. Take my offer- serve at HIS Feet and Exalt in his gifts! Or be ground to mulch to feed His Blessed Garden. "

His hand made a single small gesture that was enough for the squad of Sentinels behind them, who (judging by their hard faces) had already figured out what happened.

With blurring speed, they unleashed a point blank volley. With a melodic-guttural roar the Not-Broll threw his hands up over his chest and took several arrows to the limbs as a result. The enormous monster that was the creature's mount, having freed itself with Broll's death, bounded forward. However Jarrod and co were already retreating, his lieutenants blowing their hons to signify retreat.

Jarrod may have lost this battle but, he vowed, the war would be the Kaldorei's.

* * *

Gingerly yet angrily, Tamurkhan pulled the shafts out of his new body, not even bothering to watch the now-concluded fighting beyond him. Instead, he focused on the commander's words and, more importantly, of the body that he now wore like a new cloak.

Inside his form, The Maggot Lord could feel the elf's soul slipping away like sand between his fingers. Tamurkhan felt a sting of anger and disappointment; he was not yet a daemon, who could hold onto such things. As much as he wished he was. The Elf's spirit would return to where it was bound, though no doubt it would be marked by the rot that festered in Tamurkhan's soul.

Then the epiphany hit him and the lord laughed. He understood now why Nurgle's gaze had been fixed on him throughout the battle, what his grandfather wanted him to do!

The Maggot Lord walked over to his own former corpse and without a hint of reluctance used his newfound claws to scythe through the flabs of ogre flesh until he found a satchel. With religious reverence, the not-elf pulled out a singular green vial, containing mixture that swirled and bubbled on its own accord. This was the most fetid water on all of Azeroth or Mallus for that matter, a tiny portion of the pestilent waters of Nurgle's own Garden.

Tamurkhan downed it with a single gulp. The Grandfather's exaltation of approval breached the bounds between worlds.

* * *

What follows is another vision of the madness that lay beyond. As with my previous writings it should not be construed as the truth, a nebulous concept in this place, but as a possible truth.

Imagine a garden, unkempt and festering. Within its bounds, life gestated and grew, aged and rotted. Sometimes this took place in a mortal eye-blink; sometimes in the span of mortal aeons and sometimes both at once. Sometimes life never grew into maturity at all, but remained in a fetus-like state from which there would be no change. Other times the entity was born aged and only decayed further. And more.

Whether it wanted to or not life begat life begat life, endlessly and persistently. Newly formed plants emerged painfully and vampirically from the stems of other foliage, stacking on top of each other chaotically like slum tenant houses that rose the height of whole astronomical units. In the conscious forms of the mad things that capered within were every manner of fungus and parasite that gestated impossibly quick, draining from their hosts and then being further drained once they reached maturity. The air was thick with every contagion that ever was, is, would be or could be. Flies and other mosquitoes and other tiny horrors buzzed in vast hordes that blanketed everything in a sickly green darkness.

Underneath it all mortal souls sprouted through the earth like immobile flowers, each housing a quivering spirit that strained helplessly against its roots even as life began to gestate within them.

It was fruitless.

Death offered no absolution here. Nothing would free the accursed, who were bound to only rot and rot and rot until they decayed into liquefied soul-mulch that would serve as fertilizer for yet more life. Throughout this process the victim remained conscious of every torment and degradation inflicted upon them, as helpless to stop the rot as they were to stop the march of time.

The size of this garden could never be measured in mortal distances yet even so, it had limits. At points the garden was halted by strange new environ. At one point, the garden burned and bled as hellfire scorched it. In another, it was a very different type of fire that contained it, crystaline flame that altered what it touched into unnatural and ever shifting forms. Still, in yet another, endless armies of damned souls were forced to curtail the garden's soul, the screams of agony and pain of the mortals as the garden defended itself bringing much delight to their daemonic overseers.

However, this was the Realm of Souls, and the garden's progress was not limited four dimensional concepts. At times the Garden broke past its dimensional walls and spread Beyond. A veil cracked- a tiny, almost imperceptible thing. But, to the lord of this realm, it was enough, a foreshadowing very much in the same vein that a single cancerous cell could be to an otherwise hail individual.

Laughter, jubilant and grandiose, boomed with a thunderous quake.

* * *

 _For the first time in over two months, Sayl longed for the peace of sleep. Even the patrician mockery of its dreadful inhabitant was a mere pittance compared to the ridicule reality offered him._

 _...The loss of over one half of his army..._

 _...The lack of credit given to his own skilled leadership and Tamurkhan taking all the credit..._

 _...Most of all, the survival of the Plague Lord. More than that the filth-spawn had actually embraced Sayl in front of his entire force. In a voice filled with unnatural, fae mirth he thanked Sayl publically for carrying out his orders so effectively, declaring munificently that some of the credit for victory belonged to Sayl._

 _He had been made to look like a fool. Worse, it planted seeds in the heads of his erstwhile allies- those not of the Plaguelord's ilk- that perhaps Sayl was nothing more than some patsy for Tamurkhan. They had looked at him suspiciously since, and hadn't answered his requests._

 _And so, infuriated, Sayl wandered the realm of dreams until he found who he sought. It wasn't hard, for the wretched creature was always a shadow above his thoughts._

 _Sayl found Xavius in a pavilion as decadent as any of the Pleasure God's, reclining in a throne that seemed more like a extravagant hammock than chair. He was laughing and muttering to himself._

 _Sayl had no time for this_

 ** _"Who are you speaking to, elf?"_**

 _Xavius smiled magnanimously_

 ** _"Why, my master of course! He is most pleased by your work- in fact more than pleased!"_** _Xavius did an odd turn of his head, as if he was lowering his right ear to listen to a particularly quiet speaker. He laughed and grinned once more_

 ** _"You are by far the most self-centered, duplicitously farcical and egomaniacal human he has ever had the privilege to command! Should you find your service to your own master wanting, the God of the Deep is more than willing to accept your change in allegiance. "_**

 _Sayl growled **"May the Aether Spawn feast on you and your imaginary master, Xavius! I did not come here to speak your delusions- I came so that you would honor your pact. Tamurkhan stands on the brink of total victory!"**_

 _Xavius looked at his co-conspirator and enemy slyly, before getting up off his chair. He leaned uncomfortably close to the human_

 ** _"Tell me Faithless, when I speak to you in the waking world, do the others hear me, or just you?" Xavius shook his head slightly, mockingly "No? Then perhaps you should adjust your view of just how many have you in their gaze at any given time."_**

 _Sayl felt a sensation of discomfort but suppressed it with malice. He had stood in the presence of greater daemons- did Xavius think his god, if such an entity existed, was anything more? Worse, if this 'God of The Deep' had to hide behind a creature such as Xavius then it was only worth contempt._

 ** _"Let him watch then, Elf, as all his servant's schemes crumble and turn to dust. Since you were too daft to listen the first time I will repeat myself- Tamurkhan's victory is assured. "_**

 _Xavius shook his head with an irritating, knowing smile_

 ** _"Oh human, how little you know of this world, for you could not be more incorrect! On the contrary, Tamurkhan's defeat is guaranteed, despite admirable efforts by worthy servants to assure his ascension"_** _A translucent goblet without wine formed in his right hand, a prop piece crafted solely so that Xavius could perform a mock toast Sayl. The Warlord mentally added to his list of torments he would inflict upon the creature when he could._

 _Sayl barked out a laugh, but before he could speak Xavius cut in_

 ** _"Let me guess... You are about to follow with some quip regarding my intelligence, delusional state, inherent weakness of my former kin or some combination of all? Let's not become drearily predictable now Sayl- not now, when my master holds you in such esteem."_**

 _Sayl meant to speak, but found he could not- his mouth moved but the words wouldn't come out. Immediately realizing what had happened, the warlord's hand reached for his sword and unsheathed it- only to drop it with a silent yelp, as the weapon turned out to be a snake that snapped at his gauntleted hand._

 _Xavius wagged his finger_

 ** _"Never forget this is my realm, human. You may relax, however, as I only want to skip the pointless prologue."_**

 _The Nightmare Lord waved his hand and the pavilion disappeared. Xavius and a simmering Sayl hung in the air above a vast sea of forest. Down below, various bands of elves could be seen moving towards a vast structure in the distance._

 _ **"I can't deny you played on Jarrod's greed well, human. He committed longer than he ought in his attempt to slay your lord- and, as a result lost almost the same proportion of soldiers as you did, Faithless. In fact, if a certain someone did not order ranks to be closed so that horsemen from the rear could not pass through, he may have lost more still.** "Xavius did another mock toast here._

 _His hand then beckoned towards the temple in the distance._

 ** _"This is not the total of his native forces here, of course. More arrive every day at the Moon Goddess's sanctuary, veterans returned to service, native allies who you have yet to encounter gathering, even whole druid kindreds awaking. Though, they might find reasons to stay asleep in the Dream, soon. "_**

 _Xavius did not elaborate but instead moved the image on. Questions burned Sayl's throat, but the silencing spell still held._

 _They disappeared anyway, when Sayl's eyes found the bay beyond the temple._

 _His first encounter with ships had been at the portal, where he had seen the Norse burn them to kindling rather than cede them to the Plague Lord. Before that he had been aware of the concept of artifices that crossed a further hypothetical steppe made of pure water, but had never personally encountered them and had only the unreliable tongues of travelers to rely on._

 _Now...he was pretty sure there was close to a hundred of them. Each vessel filled with milling soldiers and he had no doubt more were below the decks. Most were Kaldorei but some..._

 _Concentrating his spirit and mustering control of some magic from the Waking World to him,, Sayl reached out to Xavius's vision and manipulated it, bending light to get a closer view. To his annoyance Xavius looked more amused then anything, but Sayl chose to focus on one of the ships that looked different from the majority. This was not a long and sleek vessel clearly favored by the elves, but a bulky and compact one that was filled with humans._

 _Though most had not donned their armor, Sayl could see that those who did choose to armor themselves were well armored in plate akin to a Warrior of the North. They were armed with all manner of swords and axes, along with what Sayl dimly recognized as one of the foul-smelling thunder weapons of the Dawi Zharr and that he had seen sporadically used by the Kaldorei's human allies in the preceding battle._

 _Sayl guessed there were more firearms below than either the Zharr or the already present humans possessed._

 _Moreover, there was something...off about their armor. Namely, that it was very loose fitting and gaps that could easily be exploited in combat were present at seemingly every section of the design._

 _Out of the corner of his eye saw a wholly different vessel- this one jeweled with gems that glowed with unnatural light. He spared it a quick glance- then did a double take._

 _He directed the vision to the strange vessel filled with creatures so strange that, for a moment, Sayl's breath caught, for he thought he might be looking at something from the Aethyr itself._

 _At first he really did think they were daemons, with their cloven feet and well-rounded horns. A closer examination dissuaded this notion, for the creatures carried none of the visual malevolence of that race, but they were alien all the same. They were as blue as the sea they crossed, and the eyes of each of them shone with some sort of fae-blue light._

 _ **"What are those?"** He said, pointing at the strange creatures. He was so intrigued that he only dimly registered that he could speak once more._

 ** _"Ah, the Draenei. A race of exiles who fled their homeworld like rats from a burning ship. And then they did so to the next world they landed on, and the next, and so on until-"_**

 _He spoke conversationally and gestured at the creatures_

 ** _"They landed here. Now they are 'allies' with the Kaldorei. More accurately they take shade from their many enemies beneath the Tree of Teldrassil and the all-reaching Wolf of Stormwind. I tend to think of them as client races, actually, and applaud my former kin for carrying on Azshara's tradition. Like good dogs, I see they came when called. Though" He smiled at a nearby vessel, this one featuring humans "perhaps 'dogs' better applies to others."_**

 ** _"Dogs? You mean a slave race of your kin, then? The concept of Elves enslaving others is not unknown to my world."_**

 _For the first time during this meeting, Xavius gave Sayl a look of honest surprise._

 ** _"Oh? My kin exist on your world as well? Intriguing...Why have you not mentioned this before? More pointedly, why have I not seen a vision of them in the dreams of you or any of your kind. "_**

 ** _"I doubt you would. Their homeland is on the other side of the world and I doubt any save perhaps the Maggot Lord had encountered them. However, we know them by the reputation they leave. "_**

 _The Chaos Warlord sneered at his compatriot_

 ** _"They would find you and your kind disappointing at best, and a personal affront at worst."_**

 ** _"Indeed, Faithless? I wonder what the humans' here- or in the city of the lion- would say about you and your kind then? A whole race of man falling into scraping servitude to the gibbering spirits they foolishly call gods. Your petty insults aside however, my reference to 'dogs' was a bit more literal than what you might expect...but I don't want to spoil all surprises. "_**

 _This time Xavius moved the image on, and the scene shifted from the soldiers to a small and eclectic group of individuals whose armor and armament almost defied description. Whereas the others wore equipment that was uniform, the clothing of these seemed to be as random as the minions of the Changer._

 _He examined one, who was clearly a warrior of some sorts. His pauldrons were made of the same jeweled metal of the 'Draenei' yet everything else varied. The Hammer that lay against his arm was clearly of Dwarfish make, while the strange headpeice seemed to have a...firearm built into it?_

 _Saly's eyes narrowed_

 _Yes, it was a firearm- but who built a gun into their helmet!? The pants, meanwhile, were plated but plate that was smoothed and elegant in Kaldorei designs. Some spinning mechanism dominated his gauntlets, and Sayl thought there might another strange technological device built into them._

 _And he was only the first. Some of the strange individuals wore only cloth, though cloth simmering with visible enchantments of glittering violet and of strange symbols of dagger-eyes and unrecognizable beasts. A few had actually brought beasts with them; tamed lions and bears and scaly monsters and other stranger things._

 _This wasn't an army. It was a traveling menagerie._

 _Behind his host spoke once more with that irritable, omnipresent mirth._

 ** _"Oh they look ridiculous true, but each of them contains a legend under those ridiculous styles; legends that have ended reigns, shattered would-be dreams and defined whole conflicts. Each of them has the recognition- and achievements- your barbarian champions only ape at, Sayl. And you face over two hundred of them."_**

 _Sayl waved them off, and the vision swirled to the eagle eye viewpoint they had started on. Or…almost, had not his eye been drawn to the elegant white vessel in the front. He seized control of the vision and zoomed._

 _There was a woman standing at the aft of the ship, dressed in a gown that seem to illuminate in the moonlight. She stared across the sea to Val'sharah unblinking, her gaze unseeing and clearly her mind was fixated on something else. Yet, there was a certain power about her that left Sayl transfixed. He moved the vision in closer and-_

 _There was a half-roar of rage and the vision suddenly shattered. Instinctively Sayl reached for his sword, but the sheath was still empty. Worse, a monstrous hand had grasped him around the throat._

 _Xavius was its owner, and he was as furious as Sayl ever saw him. His patrician form had half-bloated to monstrous proportions that vaguely resembled a Cursd Ettin and his mouth was split in a grimace of pure hate._

 ** _"Mortal fool! Your curiosity would undue us both! Do you think your master, or mine, is the only power that is vested in this world? "_**

 _Sayl bristled_

 ** _"What's a matter? Is the Nightmare of the 'Nightmare Lord' a frail priestess in white? "_**

 _Xavius barked a laugh before letting the human drop. The monster ressumoned and then walked back to his chair._

 ** _"Frail? She, and her loathsome husband"_** _There was an emphasis on the last part_ ** _"will be your doom human. As they have for so many in the past. However, I am sure your master has already fit these latest changes into his designs."_**

 _Still reeling from the assault, Sayl spat_  
 ** _"Master!? I have no master, no chain around my neck! I am my own agent, now and forever! Do not project your own servitude onto me!"_**

 _Xavius reacted in a manner in which Sayl had never seen him do before, nor would ever have expected him to. He turned, his face a mixture of astonishment and befuddlement.. Xavius's confusion deepened as he studied Sayl deeply, as if trying to gauge the sincerity of the Dolgan's words, as if he couldn't believe that Sayl couldn't see something so obvious to the world_

 _And then a tiny smile formed that widened and widened until it formed a canyon on his face. The Nightmare Lord's laugh shook the world and all around the pair the strange dreamscape began to rock into a series of fever-visions, half-blind teary eyed scenes of breathtaking mirth. Sayl could actually feel the Nightmare Lord's mockery and amazement this time; a rich and palpable thing._

 _Just as Sayl was about to strike him, the entity straightened and Xavius's face turned faux serious for a moment_

 _"Indeed, I have scarcely encountered a mortal more obsessed with double-dealing, scheming and self-interest **.'Faithless' indeed"** It was here Xavius's smile deepened, as if the two shared a private joke. **"In fact, one might say you serve Treachery himself!"**_

* * *

 **Note 1: On the End-Game Collapse of the Fabian Strategy**

Throughout history the Fabian Strategy has been used in the American Revolution, in Napoleon's invasion of Russia, and back in Rome from whence the strategy takes its name. The strategy calls for the defender- under the assumption that the defender has a weaker force than the invader- to avoid major battles at all costs. Instead, the defender must fight only when most advantageous, retreat when it is not, harass supply lines and generally wage a campaign designed to bleed and exhaust the enemy. While not always successful and sometimes limited by other needs, the strategy nevertheless has proven itself throughout history. Indeed, I have pointed out already the military weaknesses as they apply to this campaign- namely that the Kaldorei are( at least until Darnassean reinforcements arrive) drastically outnumbered, on a clock and their enemy has ultimate knowledge of which direction to head thanks to their seers.

It is also one of the most universally reviled military strategies. It is hated by the populace, who are often called upon to make huge sacrifices by abandoning their homes in the name of military expediency by those who are supposed to protect them. It is often hated by the soldiers, who feel the strategy is cowardly. It is disliked by politicians, always on the lookout for quick, glorious victories. Even the generals themselves don't particularly care for it and in all three examples I name there were periods where those in charge abandoned the strategy.

Even Fabius himself couldn't perfectly pull it off and he was forced from his position at one point as well as dubbed "Cuncinator" ("The Delayer") by his foes. It turned out immediately after that happened the Romans suffered their greatest ever loss at Cannae, resulting in him being hastily returned to the position, but the Roman civilian populace still had to learn the lesson first.

So Imagine you are one of the civilian Night Elves, including the councils who typically lead the province. This province is by far the most peaceful on Azeroth, and even amongst the totality of Kaldorei lands you have had little conflict. You are initially ecstatic to hear that one of the legends of your people's history has come out of retirement to lead your defense, having either grown up on memories of the hero Jarod Shadowsong or (for the oldest) having faint memories of the time when Jarrod assumed command and quickly turned a loosing situation around. Surely, the war would be won in the first couple of blows?

Yet that isn't what happens. It can't happen, as Jarrod knows well that if he were to seek a direct confrontation with Tamurkhan, he would be annihilated. The numerical discrepancy is too great. So instead he tells the civilians to retreat from land they have lived for ten millennia- with some Kaldorei having _actually_ lived there the entirety of that time- while salting the earth behind him whenever possible to deny the enemy supplies. Jarrod seemingly has no regard for their homes, livelihood or history.

But more than that, his tactics are seen as failing a sacred Kaldorei charge- their duties to the forest.

Over the last ten millennia the Night Elven society have come to view nature as sacred and as their sacred charge to protect. They make their homes inside the forests, they walk amongst its denizens in a mostly harmonious relationship The loss of healthy forests ('sacred groves', as the Warcraft 3 Night Elf announcer would say) and foliage and fauna are viewed with genuine grief and rage by the Night Elves. Some like Lunara might look upon the Kaldorei relationship with cynicism, but the empathy appears real. Jarrod, being of the Old Sort, may regret his lack of options but would, without hesitation, sacrifice the forest and its denizens to save Kaldorei lives. Ideally, he would even destroy the trees via fire to deny the enemy food and supplies, yet the Kaldorei are unwilling to do that.

Now, I bet you are probably thinking to yourselves "That Jarrod seems like a sensible chap trying to reign in a bunch of extremist tree-huggers." That is because you are a human and need a rewrite of the above paragraph to at least partially grasp the average Kaldorei mindset

Over the last ten millennia the Humanity has come to take numerous animals into their homes as life companions. These pets- most notably cats and dogs- live alongside humans in their homes, form deep bonds with man and (ideally) live in a mutually loving relationship. The loss of a cat or dog ('my babies', as some pet owners declare) is viewed with genuine grief and rage(if killed by some malevolent/careless force) by pet owners. Some like PETA* might look upon the Pew-Owner relationship with cynicism, but the empathy appears real. Jarrod, being allergic to all animals and never having had a pet, may regret his lack of options but would, without hesitation, sacrifice as many cats and dogs as possible to save human lives from the invaders. Ideally, he would even cull all the cats and dogs and then incinerate their corpses to deny the enemy food and supplies(fur).

Perhaps now you understand?

*The comparison of PETA/Lunara is regrettable. From some of the reports I have read, Lunara would probably hunt down PETA.

* * *

And that's a wrap! As you can probably tell, we are coming to the climax of Tamurkhan's invasion, as the long-anticipated Darnassean reinforcements have finally arrived and several bigwigs among them! I will tell you that you can expect three major Alliance figures in the coming battle. One of which has been revealed and one of which can probably be readily guessed at given said revealed individual. As for the third? A bit of a curve-ball, that one, but if you pay attention to earlier chapters, this leader certainly has the motivation (and ability) to show up!

But Tamurkhan still has some tricks up his sleeve as well, and Tamurkhan's Grandfather has his own designs on the province that he is eager to see to fruition.

Who will win?

Well, find that out next-

Okay, the time after next time. Because next time is the Sentinel Codex( which I am over half done), just like I did for the Kirin Tor. Expect to see some familiar units translated into Warhammer rules….as well as some new ones.

I also apologize for the prodigious delay again- though I was not idle. At current, I have about 60,000 unpublished words of background lore, concepts and ideas. Some may never see light of day, while others are very close…..

Thank you again for all your comments- they are really motivating and give me some ideas. Also if you are ever worried that I have abandoned the fic, feel free to message me and ask whats going on.

 **Hakuryuu (First Review- 7.6)**

Thank you for the series of reviews! Rest assured that though it might take me some time to create new chapters, I will never abandon the story without at least giving a headsup first. So if I don't do that, assume that I am in the process of writing and will eventually post (or dead).

I will note that one of my favorite fanfictions, Of Sheep and Battle Chicken, has had ongoing updates over a period of almost a decade.

Regarding after the Brothers... I do have ideas of scenes involving the Skaven afterwards, though I don't want to spoil the story. Still, you have given me some good new ideas.

-Indeed, Grudges are a commonality among Warhammer Dwarfs and though the implementation is different (Western Dwarfs would not demand slavery as recompense, like a C. Dwarf would) this is a concept that both would understand within the other. There is some evidence of Warcraft Dwarfs being vengeful, though nowhere near the point of the Warhammer Dwarfs.

-You may have been prescient about Xavius.

-Oh I have a whole nother post about Skaven, Dwarf and Chaos Dwarf tech. As a short blurb, I would say the Skaven are capable of truly wondrous marvels...but suffer from every major problem with Goblin/Gnomish technological views (tinkerism, terrible safesty standards, greed/sabotage) writ larger.

-The Empire's tanks come from a single inventor 500 years back which has never been reproduced.

-I agree with the perspective of the Kaldorei, empathetically so. I have never met any Warhammer Elf who would utter the phrase "Elf, Human, all our lives are equal" as Shandris Feathermoon did. Regarding Zandalari-Trolls...the technology of the Lizardmen are (from my understanding) mostly relic holdovers from the advanced tech of the Old Ones or their original Slann servants while the Zandalari are basically magi-tech empowered by their gods directly.

-Regarding the End Times Archaon himself conceded(in Glottkin) that if he fought an alliance of Elves, Empire and Dwarfs his victory was uncertain. Moreover, when those three factions (and Nagash, and Greenskins) finally did unify in a single assault at the end of the End Times, they actually won(well, until Mannfred stabbed them all in the back), even after their holdings were thoroughly wrecked. Moreover, the main End Times novel writer, Josh Reynolds, has stated in his interviews that if Order unified early on they would have won.

-You will see more of the others when the time is right. At this time, no one outside of the chaos entities is fully aware of what occured, though a few are starting to have an inkling.

 **Madfrogg** Perhaps, though whether the "elgik" could read the scribble is another question!

 **Guest (July 6)**

There might have been some followers, though whether they were of the mentally broken type or scheming observors is another question.

Hmm I think you are mistaken. Humans (by which I mean Stormwind) have adapted the tech of the Dwarfs pretty well. We see prominently Stormwind armies using riflemen, tanks, and gyrocopters pretty often in the game in multiple zones (Kasarang Wilds, Redbridge, Jade Forest, Draenor, in game Lordaeron etc)

As for the Gnomes, they did suffer from what you mentioned when they encountered the Troggs, a race that despite being dramatically technologically inferior still managed to overwhelm them for a bit thanks to the gnomes' peace loving nature and the Trogg's overwhelming numbers (though it was really betrayal from within that cost the Gnomes) . Before that, their only encounters were with the Dwarfs and small Troll tribes.

They certainly have developed their military tech since, however.

 **Eva**

Well, I think you will enjoy the next coming chapters then :)

 **Thehappyvampire**

To be fair, I am sure the Alliance doesn't know about the full scale of Chaos, either. You make some very salient points about the nature of the Alliance, the success of Sigmar's idealism and the similarities between the two. For all the talk of grimdarkness of Warhammer Fantasy, it needs to be remembered that the settting's greatest dreamer, the greatest idealist, is also the most potent threat that exists to Chaos and deemed so successful that the successor setting is literally about him.

 **Dr. Fail**

Mt. Hyjall is on Kalimdor and they are in the Broken Isles. And at the time, indeed, I could not think of any realistic reason why the Kaldorei would stand and fight (which would result in their slaughter, outside a terrain that limits the Chaos advantage in numbers, as it did here). Wait and see though, regarding those scrolls...

 **True Skull-** Don't worry, I plan too. From what I have read, internally at Blizz Eastern Plaguelands is the size of Texas, and ill be adjusting my provincial estimations accordingly.

 **Hakuryuu** July 8. = Err, I have to disagree with those. The Chaos Dwarfs are not WW1 and the Norscans are not quite enlightenment era.

 **Guest** July 9 - You will like next chapter then, though I won't say who will win!

 **Carre**

2\. Thank you for more suggestions!

3\. I have some plans for Abhorash, but not until the far future.

B. Technically they are a dark twisted version of the adventurers, for they too seek glory and loot (along with their daemonic boons). Both engage in much travel and deeds great and terrible, and are stronger than the average soldier, better equipped and often oozing with magic. However, in practice there are several key differences such as -Cohesiveness: Pick up "Palace of the Plague Lord". Pick up the "Archaon Everchosen duology". Pick up "Wulfrik". Chaos Champions, when forced to work with one another, DO NOT get along well. In fact, the chaos champions of those novels often die to one another and have to keep one eye on their backs. Now pick up the "WOW comic", "Warcraft : Illidan {Towards the End}" "Bloodsworn" or "Dark Riders". I mean sure, Warcraft adventurers there might have some quirks and contentious differences, but they are far better at working together than chaos men.

This is due in large part to the anti-social nature of Chaos, which encourages one to seek the highest rewards (immortality) and appeal to their own vices (Scheming, hatred, lust etc) no matter the cost. This does not result in very stable group bonds.

-Relationship with Mortal Authority- While the adventurers of Warcraft might have rebellious backstories (or might not. They varry), they inevitably work with some form of mortal power, such as the Dragonflights or governments of the Alliance/Horde. With Chaos however they are naturally opposed to every sort of authority including, yes, even those major Chaos Warlords like Tamurkhan and Archaon himself. Look at how many times Sayl has attempted to betray the former and I will note throughout Archaon's entire career, including after he claimed the title of Everchosen (even in the later stages of the End Times!) he has consistently had to deal with Chaos champions trying to kill him. Chaos Champions may follow another's authority for a time, however this is inevitably for their own reasons and they will strike if they sense a situation that favors them.

\- More Diversity: Chaos Champions disdain ranged combat, have far rarer magic and generally just tend to favor melee combat. They have no class support system, the way trainers serve for Azeroth's champions. In general, they would all be classified as warriors on the WOW scale, albeit those with mutations, and a few mages (that would specialize in several possible lores of magic to be fair). By comparison, there are 12 PC Classes that currently exist and some NPC adventurers push this further.

Truthfully, I can see the average Chaos champion beating the average Adventurer Champion one on one thanks to mutations, greater emphasis on personal survival/combat etc. However, the greater cohesiveness of Azeroth's adventurers (Raids are a lore thing, as the Illidan novels shows) means that group conflicts would generally favor the adventurers.

C. Cults will come, though it will be a while.

D. I like your ideas, though it will still be sometime before non-Chaos entities note Azeroth's existence.

4\. Ehh to be fair, its different types of Fantasies. Warcraft is a mix between Nobledark and Noblebright (and usually on the latter) Heroic Fantasy, while Warhammer tends to focus on the gritty Grimdarkness.

Dios In regards to the dragons and Naaru, I don't think the Dragons were aware of the Naaru until very recently. There is also, at this time, precisely one on Azeroth (in Exodar- and he dies in Legion).

-You will certainly see artifacts, and perhaps soon!However, unfortunately for the Wildhammer Dwarves, they are part of the Eastern Alliance rather than Western and are not going to reach the continent as fast. However, you might see them by the end of this...

\- Of Course. Though I know a lot of people have antipathy towards WOD and I know Blizz really dropped on that expansion (look up the things that they left out) I do not intend to abandon it. It may not be a popular peice of lore, but its in, just like Cathay and Araby are in.

 **Reed** Thank you sir for the condolences.

 **TheHappyVampire** \- Agree with the Empire as being the Order faction with the most potential however, for Chaos, it is probably Skaven. Discounting them and yes I would agree Chaos Dwarfs have the most potential (as an actually 'stable' Chaos Society).

 **nIKHIL** As Jaina said in the BFA Features Trailer, Peace in Azeroth (and in Mallus) is elusive, ephemeral and fleeting. I must admit that I haven't done a deep dive into the Empire's economics yet, though I empathetically will do so since trade is a forging bond.

 **Guest** July 30 - Absolutely. I will note that I have, sitting on my Hard Drive, a completed 30,000 Word Plus Codex of a never featured (even in other fandexes!) Warhammer Fantasy faction that I am eager to release next year. Rest assured I do fully intend to explore all the points of lore Blizzard and Games Workshop left obscure.

Dominions - You were assuredly right in WOW Classic however with each Blizzard expansion the adventurers have bloated in power and ability...to the occasional criticism of some fans, who want to go back to the simple Classic Era rather than the "Demi-god like " power levels of the current adventurers (note: Those words in parenthesis are the words of Blizzard Creative Head Alex Asfrasbi, not mine...and that he thinks that there are 'tens of thousands' of such characters in lore (from the Polygon 2017 interview I think). Truthfully, I think that latter number is too high and creates the question of why bother with armies at all if you have so much individuals of such power.

For my story, I am going to assume that power levels for adventurers varies incredibly, ranging from those just getting their feet moving to those few who have claimed the likes of Illidan, Arthas and Archimonde as kills. Of course the former will be more common than the latter though the latter are by no means hyper-rare, and there are hundreds if not thousands out there who have already earned legends for themselves.

 **Carre -** 2nd Review

1\. Regarding Gods- I may feature them (may not too) but truthfully I haven't filled out every nook and cranny of Warhammer lore. I mean I have the main path lined out, and it leads through places as diverse as Naztajar and Cathay, but I haven't gotten all the side paths down.

So my answer is...maybe? I haven't explored them in depth, but I will go into them in time to see if their inclusion makes sense, if its fit for a blurb, or is something worth majorly doing.

 **Harkuryuu** Second Review

I am alive! I am however, a slow writer. Rest Assured I have not forgotten Gul'Dan, or Wulfrik, or Archaon or Gelt or Yrel or the newly arising Raj. One day, and preferably before I finish up with the Brothers, I shall get to blurbs of them all...and then develop them more in the future, as they arise in importance.

Certainly am looking forward to two of those above characters meeting!

 **Dullahan1994**

I am! Just a very slow (and oft distracted) writer.

 **Surfer Ek**

Heh! The Humans of Stormwind are already trying to wrap their heads around how a society of humans went so wrong., I suspect the Orcs and Orcs to hardly be happy about one another anymore.

 **Guest Oct 2**

Ehh yes but I disagree with some of implications. Like the Empire is, at its worst, a dogmatic, ignorant, corrupt faction who burns thousands of innocents per year at a stake to get at one guilty, while the Lizardmen are a bunch of apathetic precursors fixated on a plan whose architects are long dead and which, by every appearence, has failed. They also give no care to collateral damage in fuffilling the 'great plan".

Both factions are still light-years better, ethically, than a faction that wants to enslave absolutely evertything (Chaos Dwarfs), to drown the world in undending sickness (Nurglites) or simply to murder everyone and make them as mindlessly obediant Skelatons for all eternity (Nagash). I can try for some level of sympathy as my writing skills develop (Arkhan, Nagash's chief servant, comes across as sympathetic) but that doesn't change that, between Nagash and the Empire for example, one is so black that the other is illuminated by comparison.

And while yes, some Norscans do not serve Chaos (and I might do something with this in the far future!) I am under the impression most of the tribes do from the novels that I have read. Again, not all though.

 **Harkuryuu** Review 3 and 4

Thank you, ill check out that campaign! I too am looking forward to starting the Tzeentch campaign. I am working with my editor on a outline and I have already written 30-35k words regarding the army that will be featured for Warhammer. Rest assured, I have a very unique outline for Subotakhan.

Omedakhan is ironically the only brother I have a full outline for, though unfortunately, he is the last to be featured (and needs to be).

 **Guest** Review (11-15)

Well Damn, congrats on making this right as I was about to post! Unfortunately, for your first question, I must demur to my answers that can be found in the 'Authorial Response" sections of "Codex: Val'sharah" (Chapter 10) and "The Long Slog" ( Chapter 11). I will say that I am still researching possible ideas, and I do appreciate yours regarding 'extreme reactions".


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